We Want to Be Rockstars
by GeodeSage
Summary: An opportunity for Pamela Lansbury to reunite with a new lineup. A new set of personalities in close quarters, away from home and loved ones to support them. All are relying on each other's talents for success or failure.
1. Chapter 1 - Old Friends

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee, although I'd like to thank RIB for letting me borrow their characters through FF.

Follows canon through "A Wedding." After that, I cherry-pick for the story.

**Just to be precise – **No shenanigans will occur between Santana and Dani. Brittana is a solid unit. No weird pairings like Elliott with Roderick or between the 3 instrumentalists. This story is meant to be fun intermixed with angst.

All wordsmithing errors are mine.

"Band members have a special bond. A great band is more than just some people working together. It's like a highly specialized army unit or a winning sports team. A unique combination of elements that becomes stronger together than apart." - Steven Van Zandt (E Street Band)

* * *

**Chapter 1** **\- Old Friends**

Kurt watched the diner's clock tick off the final few seconds of his work shift. In the last 5 seconds, he stretched beneath the white countertop, bringing out an envelope with 'Brittana' written on the front. Handing the envelope to Santana, who sat on a barstool across from him counting the tip money, "Blaine and I are having an apartment warming party on Friday. We want you and Brittany to come."

Santana suspicious took the invitation from him to examine it "House warming party implies gifts." He waved her off with his hand, "No, unnecessary. Blaine's parents gave us money as a wedding gift plus what I took from the loft we're good."

A teasing quirk at the corner of Santana's mouth. "Good, I gave you my wedding day as a present."

"For that, we'll be ever grateful to you, Santana. But if you want to bring a bottle of wine and a hot dish, I won't stop you."

"So, who's all invited to this party?"

"The usual, Artie, Rachel, Jesse, Kitty, Roderick, Tina, and Elliott. Blaine and I thought it would be fun to restart the potlucks again."

Her eyes lit up with false indignation. "You're asking me to give up my date night with my wife to spend it with a bunch of theater nerds?"

"Uh, well, it's still can be a date because you'll be going out, not staying in. And you're a theater nerd too." A sly smile across Kurt's face.

"Uh, no. I'm a Voice major."

"Yes, but with a minor in film. Which I recall you saying yourself is writing screenplays. Ergo you're a theater nerd too."

"I hate you." Santana pondered the invite, "OK, fine. I'll ask Britt."

Kurt untied his apron. He looked back up to his friend, "Oh, can we forgo the rice and beans? I know that's a family tradition, but well, it's a bit filling if you know what I mean."

She rose to wait on guests who'd sat at an empty table in her section. With a glance over her shoulder at Kurt. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that."

* * *

Santana found herself alone for the first time since arriving at the Klaine's studio apartment. Brittany in conversation with Artie on editing software he used at BFA. Memories flooded her mind, recalling her time spent living with Kurt and Rachel in the old studio loft. The snowstorm, The Facts of Life marathons, banishment, the fights with Rachel, Brody. She giggled to herself as she wondered what had happened to the plastic man. Was he suffering from some catastrophic disease he'd picked up while servicing his clientele? Or was he stripping at some non-distinct bar in the Midwest entertaining bored old ladies? It didn't matter. Santana had saved Rachel from her naivete.

Elliott approached his old bandmate. "You look lost in thought,"

Santana glanced up enquiringly at Elliott, who joined her in the kitchen. "Oh, just thinking about the old loft."

He sat his glass down on the countertop, examining the bottles of liquor "Good times, I hope. Uh, have you seen Dani since moving back?" he asked as he poured alcohol into his glass "I hear she has a girlfriend, a chef, I think."

Smoothing down her dress with her hand, "Um, no, I haven't."

"She misses the band. We both do."

Santana tilted her head up to look at Elliott, "You mean the trio?"

Elliott closed one eye as he squished his face up. Debating to broach a subject that had been on his mind for a few weeks. "Managers at the clubs have asked me if we're ever getting back together. Pamela Lansbury was special. The five of us had chemistry. I've joined other bands. It's just not the same."

Her mouth turned into a knowing smile. "You want to get the band back together. Have you talked to Rachel or Kurt? Cos, I don't think Rachel is all that into cover bands right now." She said as she eyed Rachel fawning over Jesse, "More like rebooting her relationship with Jesse."

"No, you're right, Rachel isn't interested. And Kurt is too busy bonding with Blaine."

Santana snorted, "you mean agreeing with everything Blaine says and does."

"Yeah, I thought he was kinda passed that stage already." Elliott grinned. "What about you? Kurt mentioned you'd went on tour with your friend, and you'd signed a recording contract."

"As a backup singer."

"A backup singer on at least one song that made iTunes top eighty downloads. And a duet that made the top 100 iTunes downloads. More than either Dani or I've done."

"So, you're looking for backup singers for Starchild? That sounds a little too Tony Orlando and Dawn to me."

Elliott grinned before taking a sip of his drink, "No, I was thinking we add another male singer, unlike some people," nodding toward Rachel. "I'm not interested in hogging the spotlight."

"She's changed or at least trying too, you know," a tone of sincerity in her voice.

"Yeah," he exhaled, "I haven't seen that yet. So, will you think about it?"

Santana paused. She'd welcome a little extra cash. Brittany had her money from selling Fondue for Two to Univision. Student loans and scholarships covered most of their tuition expenses. They both had jobs, she at the diner, Britt, at a dance studio teaching. Then her Dad filled in any holes at months end. Her independent streak liked to avoid calling Dad. And to be honest with herself, she missed performing. "Cover band or original songs? And will I get a say in who's added to the lineup?"

Elliott took a minute to ponder, more to maintain the suspense, than decide. He knew he wanted Santana back in the band. "Yes, to both."

"Let me talk to Britt. I'll get back to you."

* * *

**Notes:**

Canon doesn't give Brittana a career. I'm going off Santana's comment that she likes to 'sing and dance.'

No clue how well the four voices blend. Kinda thinking in terms of bands that had lead singers, a combination of female & male. Fleetwood Mac, Little Big Town, ABBA, B-52s, The Mamas & the Papas, etc.

I am not renouncing the future canon career success of Mercedes or Rachel or Blaine and Kurt.

Any appearance by Dave Karofsky will be within the show's canon. Honestly, I can't think of a reason to include him at this point.

Song titles are weak—but who would have thought a pop song entitled 'Thriller' would achieve the success it did?


	2. Chapter 2 - Auditions

All grammar errors are mine.

* * *

**Chapter 2 - Auditions**

Santana tapped on her phone screen. Her knee bounced under the table, crossing her legs to settle it. She'd read her email. Reviewed old text messages. Checked her social media accounts, tapping a thumbs up or heart icon to show support on the few updates since breakfast an hour ago. She glanced up at the wall clock to compare the time on her phone. Santana picked up the sound she hadn't heard in two years. Not since their amicable breakup, well she thought it civil. At least on the phone, Dani understood Santana's reasoning. Acceptance of an apology for being a ridiculous drama queen. Dani, revealing her desire for a break too. A nervous prickle ran up Santana's spine as she looked over to her ex as they shared a grin of recognition. Dani sweet innocent smile that made her eyes sparkle. Her hair natural black, with only the tips a shocking pink her favorite leather jacket, more worn from the New York winters. Simple words of "Hey", "Congratulations," "How ya been?" A welcoming embrace.

It was a reminder to another memory from the past. Now Elliott sat next to her at the table, not Kurt. Instead, Kurt stood next to the table with a video camera, recording each audition. That had been Brittany's idea to videotape each singer. Kurt volunteered when auditions conflicted with Brittany's scheduled dance class. Kurt's presence also gave credence to the room and NYADA band members taking part in a non-NYADA activity.

Dani sat with the musicians Kurt had assembled in NYADA's dance room. Her guitar strap sagged from her shoulders. Her skill at playing the guitar improved, not that she wasn't adept before. It was the technique she'd developed over the two years had changed.

This time the sign-up sheet had a real name 'One-Three-Hill' at the top, below a list of 15 men wanting to audition for the band. By late afternoon they'd audition all but one. They eliminated a few. The old washed up big hair leather-wearing rocker whose voice cracked when he tried to hit a high note. The timid young man trained in opera that couldn't quite get into the vibe of the Bruno Mars song he'd selected. The unwashed kid who wore an odd-shaped hat made from aluminum foil. He told Elliott that it kept the radio waves from invading his brain to scramble his thoughts. And the guy who grabbed his crotch in front of Santana offering her his services. Regrettably, he was one who could sing.

Using his pen to slide the sign-up sheet closer, "Our last one is Chandler Bing." Elliott turned to look at Santana, "Wasn't that a character on 'Friends'?"

"Yeah, but Rachel's Dads named her after Jennifer Aniston's character, so maybe it was common back in the day. I mean, look at me most people think my parents named me after the 70s rock band."

"You're not?"

"No, St Anne. Mother of the Virgin Mary."

"Oh. Ok. Right." Elliott mumbled. The irony of the Santana he knew meshing with Lopez's high expectations for their newborn daughter. Calling out, "Chandler Bing, shows us what you got."

A man entered the room. Wearing black denim jeans, an embroidered western shirt, with short brown hair and black horn-rimmed glasses, lumbered over to the stage. Handing the musicians' sheet music, he turned to look at Elliott and Santana. "Hi, my name is Roderick Meeks, not Chandler Bing." Followed by a light-hearted snicker, seeing no one getting his joke Roderick cleared his throat "I'll sing 'Mustang Sally.'"

"Roderick?" Santana shouted out.

Elliott leaned toward Santana, keeping his voice low, "You know him?"

"Yeah, he's from Lima,"

He dropped the pen from his hand, "Of course! Half of the theater people in the city are from Lima! Why question it?" his disbelief over yet another absurdity.

"What?"

"Never mind," waving her off, "Shows what you got, Roderick."

"No! Wait!" her hand on Elliott's arm. "Why the alias Roderick? I've heard you sing. I sang backup for you."

"Uh, yeah, well, Kurt thought it would be fun." Shrugging his shoulders, with a light slap to his thigh. "This way, I'm just another guy auditioning."

Kurt stepped from behind the video recorder, "Elliott, you will love this guy." Notes of enthusiasm filled his voice. "When Rachel and I worked with him in New Directions, he was almost the new 'Blaine.'"

Santana nodded, "Kurt's right. But Roderick has a warm, more soulful voice. Blaine is more pop."

Elliott, with a shrug of his shoulders, nodded, "Sure. Whatever. Let's hear what ya got."

* * *

Later the four sat in Santana's living room watching the video, from the yes list they'd whittled it down to two men, Roderick and Austin.

Kurt eager to promote his personal favorite, "I think Roderick has the edge, just on his voice."

Elliott, nodded "True, but he didn't move. No stage presence to speak of."

"Yeah, but he plays guitar, bass, and trumpet," Dani said. "That's an advantage. One less band member if I'm on keyboards, and he's on guitar."

Elliott extended his hand to point at the video of Roderick paused on the screen. "But we don't know how good of a guitar player is he? Basic chords, or can he play rhythm? And how often are we going to need a trumpet?"

"Well, maybe call him back to find out. I mean, it's not like we couldn't find another rhythm guitarist, or I couldn't play." Dani answered.

Not wanting to let an important decision slip without a counter-argument "Still, we'd need a keyboardist. Someone who knows how to use a synth. I was kinda hoping you'd take that role, Dani." Elliott said as he glanced over to her, "I mean, I can cover keyboard too if push comes to shove."

Kurt shook his head, "No, Elliott, you're still a work in progress, no disrespect intended. How about you, Santana? You're quiet."

Her eyebrows joined in a pensive frown, "This Austin guy is good, he has a stage presence, he can play what piano? Sax. Clarinet. Oboe and bassoon? Not common in pop groups." She took a breath, "We can teach Roderick to move. I mean, Hudson danced without falling on his face too many times. It just Roderick's voice has a warmth to it, I think it would appeal to an audience."

Kurt nodded with a grin. "Agree, even if he doesn't pick up an instrument, and I'm not biased cos he's from Lima, either."

Dani nodded in agreement with Kurt. "Same, I vote for Roderick too. "Elliott?" she asked in a polite voice.

"Not like he will steal the lavender stage from you. You, me and Dani have that locked in," Santana teased.

Kurt chided his friend. "Or the steampunk rocker, Starchild.".

Elliott exhaled, tossing his hands up in defeat "Looks like we have our foursome. Roderick."

Kurt motioned everyone to listen, "Now, as you know, I have other goals to pursue, not related to One Three Hill. However, I would like to help with selecting instrumental band members. To be more specific, the drummer and the guitarist, no disrespect, Dani." He said as he saw blank faces staring back at him. "Santana, you remember our ND drummer Camron and Jonathan, the guitarist?"

"They had names? I thought drummer and guitarist were their names. I mean Brad is the only one I spoke too. Even that was a one-sided conversation."

"Yes, Santana, they had names. Anyway, they're both going to school here at Brooklyn College, along with the bassist, Franco. I suggest you" pointing at the three vocalists "get them as your back-up band."

Elliott, a quizzical look on his face, "Uh, why am I getting the feeling the band needs renaming to Lima Hill instead of One Three Hill?"

"That's not a bad idea, Elliott." Dani said.

Santana snickered more to irk Kurt than concur with Elliott or Dani. "No, if we're going to rename the band with Lima, it needs to be Lima Heights Adjacent."

"Oh, I remember you telling me about LHA, something about it was the low-income neighborhood next to the old mansion 'got lots' neighborhood you lived in San,"

"You remember that?"

"Yeah, I cringed every time you said 'I'm gonna go all Lima Height Adjacent on your sorry ass.'" Mimicking Santana's voice, a gentle slap to Santana's thigh, squeezing it, leaving it there as the door opened.

"Santana, I'm home!" Brittany shouted out, stepping through the doorway

"Babe!" A delight rang in her voice at seeing her wife. Santana sprang from the couch, Dani's hand slid off her knee. "You're early," she said with a welcome home kiss.

"No, duh, you're not watching the clock." Brittany beamed as she looked over Santana's shoulder, "Hey Kurt, Elliott, uh, and I guess Dani?"

Kurt mumbling, "Awkward."

Elliott watched as Dani stood moving toward the married couple. He leaned over to Kurt "They haven't met?" he asked in a low voice.

Kurt shook his head.

"Problems?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "No clue,"

"Um… Hi!" Brittany said to Dani, as Kurt and Elliott stood to listen and watch. "So, we like get to meet. Awesome! Like I always wanted to thank you for hanging with my lady lover while I was at MIT. Even though you didn't really have her back with Rachel. Huh, but that's like all forgotten now since you were like a total poser, and she proposed to me."

"Uh, yeah. I guess congratulations on that." Dani looked over at Santana, not sure how to respond to the tall blonde.

"Britt, we were just talking about the band," Santana said, "We decided Roderick would be the fourth member."

"Oh, cool! I told Kurt he needed to get him to audition. Since he hasn't been doing anything other than going to school and trying to get into Kitty's pants."

"Uh, they're roommates, Brittany." Kurt said, "I don't think Roderick has any desire to get into Kitty's pants when he's got a girlfriend back in Lima."

"Kurt, haven't you read the Muckraker online? That's like old news. Like Madison's back with Mason. They're in like a love triangle with Jane. You know, McKinley's gotten really cutting edge with love these days. I'm pretty sure by the end of the year. We'll be reading about orgy night in the gym instead of prom night."

Kurt glanced at Santana, who had her hand over her mouth to suppress her laughter. "You're trolling Brittany,"

"Or not," she said taking Santana's hand she led her back to the couch to sit "So are you guys like staying for dinner or are you leaving so I can get my sweet lady kisses on with my wife?"

* * *

Two empty pizza boxes covered the coffee table, along with two beer cans, and wine glasses. Blaine joined after spending the day at the NYU library. Elliott called Roderick, who brought Kitty. The foursome quit harmonizing when neighbors knocked on the door to say the music kept their children awake.

Kurt set his empty pizza plate on the coffee table, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, "I guess the first thing on the list is finding a practice studio,"

Shaking his beer can "And finding our first gig." Elliott took a swig of beer from the can, "It was just pure luck that we got that gig at the Williamsburg Music Hall after playing at Callbacks."

Kurt tilted his head toward Elliott, "True, but that led to a few more bookings. Even though we were a trio at that point,"

"Make a video, put it on YouTube. Like that's how Justin Bieber got his start. Carly Rae Jepsen, even Susan Boyle." Brittany said, "I mean, it's how I started Fondue for Two then sold Queso Por Dos to Univision."

Blaine's eyes lit up at the blondes' idea, "Hey, you know that's not a bad idea, Brittany,"

"It's an awesome idea. I mean, like think about it. You can only play one or two days a week at a club. To what a few hundred people each night. Like how long would it take word of mouth to book larger halls? Seriously in a city of 8 million. A long time. Add the metro area to it. That's 21 million people. Like a lot longer. But if you go on YouTube, your audience is unlimited."

Dani let out a defeated exhale. "Yeah, but we'd need a director. And the recording equipment to make a decent video. It's a helluva lot easier when there is only one person. All ya need is a camera on a tripod. We're talking four people plus a band."

A broad grin across his face, Blaine snapped his fingers, "Artie! He's regretting an elective he signed up for this semester. It has a requirement to shoot a commercial. As a marketing tool."

"Look, I love Artie to death. But if you let him develop the storyline or whatever it's called for the video, you'll be chasing plastic bags down roads or diving for garbage in the Hudson River," Kitty said. "You'll have to give him an idea to work with."

With a shrug of his shoulders "Let the song selection tell the story," Kurt answered.

Raising her hands in protest, Santana spoke up, "Ok, if we're going to video, then I'm not interested in doing a cover song." Eyeing each of her new bandmates, "If we want to stay a cover band, then why go through all the work of making a video when we just want to play local gigs?"

Dani looked around the room, "But who says we stay a cover band? I've written songs. Santana, you told me about the song you wrote for your singing club. Elliott, I know you've said you tried your hand at it."

"I will deny saying this, but Marley Rose. She's written a ton of songs," Kitty said.

"Who" Elliott looked over at Kitty, raising his palm toward Kitty, "Stop! Let me guess someone from Lima, Ohio."

Roderick sat forward on the couch, "Listen, I know I'm the new guy here, but writing lyrics isn't composing the melody. A poem can be a song, even Bible verses. We'd need something with a catchy hook to it or a unique riff even. Something that keeps it in the listener's head. Something that they want to hear again." He used his index finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Hits on YouTube are great, but you want them coming back for more."

"Or something they want to see again. Like something sexy." Brittany looked around the room, "What? Sex sells. Donna Summer's 'Love to Love You Baby' was like her simulating an organism for six minutes."

"Yeah, but isn't that like, selling yourself out? Mercedes found that out in LA. She had to start all over again." Blaine asked.

"That's because Cedes doesn't see herself as being sexy or a sex symbol. Cedes wants people to see her as a singer. Look, I went on tour with her. The dancers were the ones who had to be sexy. She just belted out the song." Brittany caught Kurt's eye. "I'm not saying Cedes isn't comfortable with her body. She has a different idea of how to market her songs. So does Gaga, Drake, Katy, Bieber."

"So, you want our band to sell sex?" Roderick asked, "Cos if that's the case, no way can I be sexy."

Brittany rolled her eyes "It was just a suggestion."

"Brittany's right," Dani said. "I mean, it isn't an image we want to foster over the long term. But adding a suggestion of sexiness to a winning song wouldn't hurt us. Not blatant sex, maybe romantic, humorous, playful flirty sex appeal."

"What are you thinking, Dani?" Santana asked.

"I have a song that I wrote after you went back to Lima. I got a call from my old girlfriend back home. It's a contrast between where I grew up and where my life has taken me now. Like between my first love back home versus uptown girl love. I call it Two Evils. Cos I was pissed at the time I wrote it."

"How about we see the song, hear it, then we can work from there?" Kurt suggested, "But I think you should give guitarist, bassist, and drummer a call."

Kitty raised her hand to volunteer, "Brittany and I will talk to Artie about directing. He'll be an ass if we don't join forces against him. And who better to overwhelm him than two ex-girlfriends?"

Brittany looked over at Kitty across from her, "Like, I didn't date Artie. I thought the other blonde cheerleader he dated was Becky?"

Kitty laughed, "Well, that makes two of us, Brittany.".

"What about money to pay for all this?" Santana not wanting to deflate the balloon that seemed to be rising needed to bring them all back to earth. "This can't be cheap. I mean Brittany used her parents' video camera and her bedroom for Fondue for Two. Plus, wardrobe."

"We can work on the wardrobe, Santana," Kurt's eyes lit up with the thought of an old employer, "I think I have an idea if Dani's song pans out."

"Artie should have the equipment. Maybe even a budget. If not, I think I know where to get some seed cash." Blaine said.

"Just to review, cos I'm confused," Roderick spoke up. "Kitty and Brittany will talk to Artie. Blaine will find the cash. Kurt will work on the wardrobe…"

"I volunteer Santana to help me," Kurt pointing at his old roommate.

"And I will only work on financing if we need it. Otherwise, I'd like to help Dani with her song. If that's all right." Blaine glanced over to Dani, who nodded her agreement.

"Right. So, what are Elliott and me gonna do?"

"Uh, you need musicians, Kurt gave you three suggestions. I'm sure Elliott has friends who'd like to play a few gigs, Dani, too. So, you and Elliott oversee that." Blaine grinned at Roderick. "And scheduling the first gig for Lima Hill, Lima Height Adjacent or One Three Hill, whatever it is you four call your new band."

* * *

**Notes:**

Any interest in continuing this story?

The guitarist was the blonde guy in Seasons 3-5 Puck called him "Johnny Tromboner." In story name: Jonathan Trom. (Trom is a legit surname.)

Drummer is the guy from Seasons 1-5. Puck refers to him as "Chapped Lips McGee." He joined ND for Sectionals in "Hold on to Sixteen" Season 3. In story name: Camron McGee. (Probably will be shorten to Cam)

The bassist is the guy from Seasons 1-5. Puck refers to him as "Floppy-Haired Bass Dude." He too joined ND for Sectionals in "Hold on to Sixteen" Season 3. In story name: Franco Haar.


	3. Chapter 3 - Business is a Trust

To those reading – Thank You!

* * *

** Business is a Trust**

Blaine adjusted his jacket and bow tie, opening the door to the restaurant. He inhaled a deep breath. Then he stepped through the entryway and exhaled. Blaine gave the maitre de June's name. He followed him back to a secluded table in the back.

"Blaine," June offered her hand to her protégé. "How is your, uh, husband, Kurt?"

Blaine took her hand. He leaned down, giving her a quick air-kiss on her cheek "Kurt is great, he's in his final year at NYADA."

"And you? What are you up to these days?" June watched Blaine sit down in the chair across from her.

"I'm at Tisch, Stella Adler Studio." An embarrassed grin crossed his face.

She tilted her head, "I see. Here I assumed you were a student at NYADA? What happened?"

"Uh, NYADA wasn't a good fit. It's just a performance school. I wanted a broader education than what NYADA offered."

Nodding in approval, "Why the call? It's been, what over a year since we last talked?"

Blaine startled by the waiter, who placed a plate of food in front of him, "I hope you don't mind I ordered for us."

"No. No, that fine." Nodding he mouthed a polite 'thank you,' to the waiter, Blaine laid the cloth napkin on his lap, taking his fork he looked up at June "I have an opportunity. Well, not me but something I'd like to be involved in getting it off the ground. It requires" Blaine bit his upper lip. "Uh, it requires…"

"Money?"

Blaine let out a breath of relief that his call had been more transparent to June than he'd let on during his appeal. "Yes, June. It requires seed money to get it off the ground."

"Ok, you're looking for an angel investor? Why me? Is it because I'm loaded? That I won't mind throwing a few thousand dollars at what may be a losing proposition? Or is it because you believe, in your heart, that this proposal is worth your time? The people who surround you are they invested in the idea? That you could walk away, feeling that regardless of the outcome, you gave it your best effort. Proud that you did so? No feelings of regret or failure?"

Blaine stared at June as he considered her questions. Her warm eyes were cold as polished sapphire. She was a businesswoman. A socialite. A trendsetter. At a pinnacle of success that he craved to emulate. The teacher that saw him as a student to mold, "June you told me once success depends on three things. Talent, hard work, and luck. If you have the first two, I wouldn't have to worry about the third. Yes, to all your questions. I have faith in this project. My friends are committed. They're talented and will put in the hard work to achieve success. And no, I wouldn't regret it if this doesn't work out, because they're talented."

Nodding, "I see, so I take it this proposition involves the theater. Your friends wish to produce a play?"

Blaine, embarrassed at the presumption, grinned at his benefactor, "No. Not a play. Not that at all. They're singers. Musicians. All very talented and trained. They need money to record" shrugging his shoulders "Maybe ten songs, some original. Upload a video onto YouTube."

A dismissive sound escaped from June's lips, "They wish to be rock stars. I see. You know, making a successful song has changed since I was young. When you went to some half-baked studio in a record shop, record a scratchy 45, then hoof it over to the local radio station to talk a DJ into playing it. If you were lucky, you get it played during the late evening hours. When teenagers would seclude themselves in their bedrooms away from their unconventional parents, if you were fortunate, some wannabe producers would hear it. He'd start hawking it at other stations in the state. Now all you do is record a video on your iPhone and put it on the internet."

"Well, it's more complicated than that, more competitive too. Just having a good voice won't guarantee success. You need to be a performer too. You need a presence… visibility to a wider audience. Unlike the successful performer of the past, your talent must include writing, composition, arrangement, theatricality. You need to create a brand."

"And you're willing to follow thru with all of that with your friends? Why not audition for one of those TV talent shows? Isn't that how Clarkson. Um ... Underwood started?"

"They're a group, not soloists. June, they're not looking to be superstars like those you mentioned." Blaine rolled his eyes while trying to think of a way to explain the goal to his socialite friend, "They have a Plan B, three are college students. They want to build a brand and market it in a city of 8 million people to get more gigs. I don't think becoming superstars is in the front of their minds right now. Have some fun. Earn a few bucks. Entertain people while their young, before post-graduation reality sets in. If they get a top 100 download on iTunes, they'll be satisfied that they accomplished something on their bucket list."

June tilted her head as she listened to Blaine. His enthusiasm for his friends was understandable, even though she knew that this project scared him. He was putting not only himself on the line but his friends, too. His reliance on their talent and commitment in a chaotic business that granted success to a few. Though Blaine had proven her wrong with Kurt, he recognized the talent his husband had much to her public embarrassment in doing so. "Remember what I told you the last time we met? To never to let anyone - not even me - doubt what you're sure of."

Blaine nodded, "I do."

"And you're sure of this… group, your friends?"

Blaine nodded, "Yes."

"Ok, then I'll give you the money. Plus, access to my lawyer who should be able to direct you to whatever you need for contracts, copyrights whatever. But I need to be paid back. Investments require a monetary payback, and you need to know I won't let you off the hook, just because we're friends. Business is a trust, Blaine. Trust comes with a commitment, and a commitment comes with a payback."

* * *

Elliott, Dani, and Roderick entered the music building at Brooklyn College. Kurt had arranged the auditions, though conflict with the time kept him away. The auditorium had a small stage, acoustical wall panels, speakers mounted on vertical bars, chairs with music stands. Elliott saw three men and a girl sitting on the stage. One guy with an early Beatles hair cut with a bass. A tall blonde with a guitar. A girl, her hair shaved on the left side next to him with a guitar. Behind them, a drum set, a guy with short tight curly hair reminded Elliott of a steel pot scrubber. By the looks of them, they were young, naïve, Midwest college kids. The opposite of when he met Santana, Kurt, and Rachel.

After introductions, Elliott asked their musical backgrounds, no surprise they were college music majors from Lima. Franco and Lennon, the girl, had played in the marching band. None had backed up a rock or pop band per se. Glee club was their experience. They impressed Elliott and Dani with the range of musical styles they'd covered in Glee Club, Broadway, traditional standards, Jazz, R&B, Pop, Rock, Country, and Rap. Instruments included Lennon adept at guitar, keyboards, and sax. Jon, a guitar, mandolin, and harmonica player. Franco bass and upright bass. Cam covered drum, bongos, drum machine, and he'd picked up the congas within the last year. Audition songs were Stevie Ray Vaughan's 'Voodoo Child' to show off Jon's guitar skills. Lennon took the lead on Neil Zaza-'I'm Alright.' Franco took the intro to Andy Timmons 'Electric Gypsy' to show off his bass skill. They played OMD 'Enola Gay' to show off Lennon's keyboard skills. The songs were instrumental, none of them attempted vocals.

Later, at a coffee shop, the three sat discussing what they'd heard. "The guitarist both blew me away. I can't play that good."

Elliott nudged Dani with his shoulder. "C'mon, they were showing off."

"Yeah, they did a damn good job at it, Elliott." Glancing across the table, "What did you think, Roderick?"

"Uh, yeah to both. They're good show-offs. I guess my question is, do we need or want four guitarists in the band?"

Elliott glanced between the two, "Uh, I wouldn't expect that you or Dani would hide behind your guitars for the entire show." He shrugged his shoulders, "You're both lead singers."

"Yeah, but it cuts into our profit unless we raise our price. As it stands, we don't even have a gig. What happens if we only play for tips? That'll suck big time."

Dani quirked an eyebrow, "So who don't you want, Roderick?"

"I'd drop Lennon. She wasn't one that Kurt recommended. Yeah, I know her from Glee. But when Santana and Brittany hired musicians for their wedding. Lennon wasn't one of them." He picked up the plastic stir stick from the table to chew, "I know Santana knows her, but I don't think she'd be impressed with her in the band."

"I kinda like a girl playing guitar in the band full-time."

"I'm sorry, Elliott, I just think it's overkill on strings."

"She plays keyboards. There isn't an exact number in a band, Roderick. Slipknot has what, two percussionists. Toto had two keyboardists. Iron Maiden had three guitarists. It just depends on the sound we want to create."

"True, Dani! We'll be a cover band to start. As we create and define our sound, yeah, then one could leave." Elliott shrugged, "Hell, any of us could leave."

"Or be kicked out."

"Yeah, that too, Dani," Elliott sipped out of his cup. "God, I don't want to go through that again."

* * *

Kitty and Brittany stood outside Artie's apartment door. From the hallway, they could hear the rush of someone running around. The screech of a chair moving across the wood floor followed by a female voice, "Ouch. Who the fuck left the chair there?" The hopping of a foot hitting wood. Kitty glanced over to Brittany, whose face was as pink as her own. Both stifled laughter as the door swung open to reveal a redhead woman, her shirt buttons misaligned, holding her shoes in one hand, her jacket in the other. Nodding to the two blondes with a muted "hey" her head down, she thrust between them to make her way down the corridor.

Kitty tilted her head to look down at Artie in his chair, "A new conquest?"

"Uh, that's Coreen. We were reviewing our cinematography notes."

"Based on your unzipped fly, I'd say you mean porn notes?"

Artie reached down to his fly, the zipper caught on the tracks, as he struggled to close the fastener. His cheeks red with embarrassment, "You're early."

Kitty, followed by Brittany, walked passed the wheelchair into the room, "We're on time somewhere."

"You're over your blonde ambition? On to redheads now, Artie?"

Kitty with a smirk on her face, "His last five were brunettes, Brittany. After Becky, he couldn't go back to blondes. Couldn't handle the magic, I'd guess."

He spun his chair around, "That's not true. I find all women attractive. You're just jealous that you both won't get on this again."

"She's married. You dropped me. Plus, neither of us want back on that again."

Artie realized Kitty was pulling out an old argument that they'd resolved to embarrass him, "So, what do I owe this visit too?"

Kitty pulled out a table chair to sit on, "Pamela Lansbury 2.0. They want a music video. They need a director. You're a director."

"Wise choice, though music videos aren't my forte. Do they have an idea? A storyline? More importantly, who's involved in the group now? Assume it's not Rachel or Kurt."

"No bags in the wind are your forte. I'm pretty sure you have a lock on that, storyline."

Brittany eyed Kitty. She appreciated the sarcastic humor, but it wasn't answering his questions. "Elliott, Dani, Santana, and Roderick will be the lead singers. They're auditioning our old Glee band members. Why we're here."

"You have money to pay for this, or I'm to use my iPhone?"

"Blaine is having lunch with his rich old lady friend. But keep that as Plan B Artie."

Artie crossed his arms, sitting up straighter in his chair. He wasn't clueless to the reboot. Kurt had given him a heads up on the news. Now Blaine might get an actual budget with real money, not funny classroom money. His creative mind started to wander to how he'd get four leads involved in the song. The band was extraneous to the video. What story will the song tell? Any animation would be expensive. The easiest, albeit annoying, all four just performing. To make it enjoyable would be to add special effects. Maybe props, like rain, ropes, lasers, costumes, dancers, exterior locations. Live-action would be an exciting story to convey. A love story would be dull. Many artists had done them. It would be a challenge to find a new point of view. Plus, he couldn't visualize either girl being interested in either of the guys. That wasn't true Santana could act, whereas Roderick would pee his pants if either girl so much as showed interest in him. However, if it were a love song, what props could make it minimalistic? Have it depend only on mood and emotion to convey the song. He shook the thought of filming a love song out of his head. An action video would be effortless for him to storyboard and film. And more interesting. "What song will they cover?"

Kitty scrunched up her eyebrows, "To be determined."

A frown creased his forehead, "What? You're giving me nothing to work with?"

Kitty shared a smile with Brittany, "No, what we're saying is that you're their preferred director."

Brittany shrugged, "Just think Artie, out of all the young and upcoming directors in this city, they want you."

"So, not only can I create the story and direct, but pick their song?"

Kitty broke out a short laugh, "No. They're not that insane." Artie scowled, "You're their friend. You'll do it, out of the kindness of your heart."

"You mean I'll do it for free? Not get anything out of it?"

"You'll get directing credit. That means acknowledgment for your control in production."

Kitty nodded, "That's right, Britt. Artie has always been about control."

His teeth flashed in a smile, "If that's all I get, then I'll hope for a song where the girls can use whips."

* * *

Santana agreed that June's entertainment lawyer provided insight into how the band should establish itself. To her, it also seemed disruptive. They were a bar cover band signing for a one-night or weekend shows with the pay shared between members. He suggested, based on years of experience, on a band partnership agreement. Even if written on a napkin that these individuals form an entity known as followed by signatures, it would work. Though it left holes in how the individuals would address issues he assured would arise.

It took a few evening discussions over dinner to sort out the contracts for the band. The band would include Cam, Franco, and Jon. Lennon, who'd cover keyboard or guitar as needed. Santana understood Roderick's hesitation. Yet, she didn't want to leave the impression that Dani was only included for her instrumental skills, not her voice. Dani had a much better range than she did, which increased the number of songs they could cover. Each taking turns to moderate or calm an irritated nerve — all given a chance to pat themselves on the back or tend to a bruised ego.

LHA the band's name. Each member having their own opinion on what LHA meant. Elliott, not caring for the Lima association, thought "Long Happy Alliance." Dani preferred "Lovable Huggable Affectionate." Roderick, "London Heathrow Airport." Cam, "Landing Helicopter Assault." Franco, "Long-Held Armistice." Jon liked "Loyalty Honor Appreciate." Brittany threw in the "Lempel Huffman Algorithm." Kitty took a stab at "Love Has Adaptability." Lennon, "Love Her Again." Santana won with "Lima Heights Adjacent." 70% of the band members had ties to Lima, majority wins.

Scintilla became the partnership name after Brittany scrambled their initials, adding the 'n' since all their names had at least one 'n.' She argued that in Latin, Scintilla meant spark, every good thing starts with a flash. Scintilla addressed issues of equipment ownership and any new equipment purchased for shows or recordings. If a band member left what it entitled them to take with them. They could expel band members who signed over their rights in the band to creditors or for filing bankruptcy. They decided on what rights, new band members inherited, nothing. The members dealt with which decisions had to be unanimous or majority during meetings. Mediation processes. What financial opportunities a band member could follow outside of the band.

They created a band publishing entity calling it LHA Band Partnership Publishing. The band members to share profits and losses in both bodies. Establishment of a bank account. The treasurer, as an independent outsider, would be Kitty. Determination of net worth. A Loan-Out company contract, which allowed for personal appearances. Dani saw a picture of Lord Tubbington in his gang leathers, sketched out a cartoon version making it the logo. Blaine would act as a temporary manager. Kurt, the stylist.

* * *

Brittany laid back in the bathtub, bubbles up to her shoulders, scented candles placed in the room. Empty wine glasses sitting on the toilet seat. — their phones on the vanity. Santana's head was resting on her shoulder, her eyes closed.

"This was a good idea, babe." Santana hummed.

Under the water, Brittany's hands stroked her wife's body. The toned abs. Smooth skin. Gliding her thumbs beneath Santana's breasts across the hidden scars from her surgery. "Hmmm. You like?"

Their serenity interrupted by Bzzzzzzzzzzzz, Bzzzzzzzzzzzz, Bzzzzzzzzzzzz

Santana grasped the top of the tub to raise herself forward. The sudden cold air hitting Brittany at the abrupt movement, as waves lapped between them to fill the gap, "What the hell?"

"Ignore it. You can respond later. It's our time." Brittany held her hand on Santana's shoulder, to encourage her wife back into her arms.

A duck quacked.

Brittany recognized the ringtone from her phone. "Damn it! It's Kurt texting."

"In that case, we can ignore it."

Another Bzzzzzzzzzzzz, Bzzzzzzzzzzzz, Bzzzzzzzzzzzz.

"Son of a bitch!" Santana annoyed at Kurt, disrupting their bath time.

A different tone came from Brittany's phone, the notes of a xylophone. Then the banging on the entryway door with Blaine yelling, "Santana! Brittany! Open up!"

"You're sleeping alone tonight, babe, because I'll be in fucking jail," Santana growled as she reached over to grab the towel from the hanger. She stood to get out of the bathwater. She wrapped the towel around her torso and strode out of the room on a mission. At the door, Santana peered through the peephole, a fisheye full of Blaine, and Kurt met her eye. She unlocked the door to let the boys into their home. "This damn well better be important, Warbler."

Blaine swept his eyes up and down her toweled body, "It is. You know you're dripping water on the floor."

"Santana, you might want to put some clothes on," Kurt still in the doorway, motioned at someone in the hallway. "Hurry before she slams the door in our face."

Brittany, in a white cotton bathrobe, strolled in from their bedroom. She helped Santana with her robe, tossing the towel on the table. As she watched, Cam and Jon carry in a long box with reinforced shipping tape around it.

"Where do you want this, dude?" Jon asked as Kitty and Dani came in behind them, each carrying small boxes. Kurt still at the door. Behind him, Lennon and Franco.

Blaine motioned the guys to stop "Dani. Kitty. Help me here. We need the clothes taken out of their small bedroom."

"Don't you think we should ask them first?" Dani, her face red from intruding on what she surmised, was there 'sexy time.'

"Yeah, how would you like someone barges in without even asking." Kitty embarrassed, too.

Blaine pulled a mobile clothing rack through the doorway of the small room. "We're making your oversized walk-in closet into a recording studio."

"You're doing what?" Santana moved toward Blaine. Brittany grabbed her hand.

"A recording studio," Blaine answered "It's perfect, no carpet to deaden the sound, throw in some baffles for the reverb. Diffusers to scatter the reflections. Attach some soundproofing to the walls, so your neighbors won't kill you. Bang! We'll have a studio to record in. And a label. This way, we create professional sounding tracks of our own. Then upload them to iTunes. Spotify. SoundCloud. I don't know yet. We'll figure that out. Whatever, we'll own our label, our music, and over the long run make and save the band some cash."

"No. No. No. Put it in your fucking apartment! Or Elliott's. Or Dani's. Don't invade our sanctuary."

"Can't. None of us have a spare room we can close off, whereas you do. Plus, you have room for the computer workstation, and we can store whatever instrument here for safekeeping overnight."

"But I" feeling Brittany squeeze her hand, she exhaled, releasing her anger, "we don't want this in our home."

"Look, Santana, every time you step foot in a studio, you're accruing a cost that we have to pay by the hour. We have the skill, knowledge, and talent to record on our own."

"He's right Santana, whatever money you are saving on studio time, goes back into your pocket. Think of it as a bonus." Kurt said, "And the advance that June gave us is taxable, divided between all of eight of you, and your managers. So, what looks generous on paper is chicken feed when you calculate your net advance payment."

Elliott guessed her next question, he stepped toward her, "And the equipment is all used. The guys and I scoured the pawnshops and music stores looking for essential equipment. We've been 'shopping' for the gear for a few weeks." His fingers to sign air quotes around the word shopping.

"Who knew I'd have fun shopping for electronics. Almost as much fun clothes shopping." Kurt tried to make a joke. Santana was not buying it. "Well, not really."

Blaine walked over to Jon and Cam, patting the box "This is a Yamaha MOTIF8 Keyboard Synthesizer, it will make Dani's keyboard sound like a child's toy piano. In the van downstairs, we have mic's, pop filters, stands, a computer table, chairs, Roland electronic drum kit, DAW/Audio Interface, two sets of studio monitors. Franco got a new Mac Pro for his last birthday. He's donating his old one to the band. We had to lay out some cash for the DAW software. And two UPS boxes." Santana shook her head. "Uh… uninterruptible power supplies in case the power goes out. Plus, power strips."

"And how are you paying for this?"

"Like Kurt said, the money from June," Kitty answered.

"Yeah, we Cam, me, and Jon scraped together some cash to invest in the band." Franco shrugged, "this city is full of musicians, but you reached out to us."

Roderick pushed his glasses up his nose. "We're a band, Santana. A team. We have each other's backs."

Midnight rolled around the band members had emptied the walk-in closet of clothes racks, shoes, and the dressers. They'd mounted studio monitors, soundproofing, and acoustic baffles. Synth and drum kit moved into the room. Assembled microphones and stand, ran, and bundled cables. For safety, they placed trip guards where the wires went across the floor. Re-assembled the computer desk and attached two monitors and the interface to the Mac. Kurt had taken it upon himself to re-organize their bedroom and living room since they'd started to look more like storage areas than living spaces.

While Jon and Roderick installed the DAW software on the Mac, the rest sat around the table, eating the Chinese food they'd ordered.

"I can't believe this place. Our bathroom is so small you have to back out, and you have a bath and a half."

"I can't believe they have a built-in wine cooler or full-size washer and dryer." Kurt moaned.

"I can't believe you found a place in Park Slope, with so much space," Blaine looked over the open floor plan. "your bedroom must be as big as the living room."

Brittany licked her lips after slurping a noodle into her mouth, "our bedroom has more square footage." She mumbled.

"I'd be happy with the dishwasher or garbage disposal," Elliott said.

"I'd give you Rod, but I'd miss clean dishes," Kitty laughed.

Roderick on hearing his name, "Kit cooks, I clean-up," he shouted.

"Ooooh Rod and Kit, you were right Babe, they are Weeks in the making."

"Santana if my brain weren't so fried from reading macroeconomics all day, I'd have a snarky comeback, but for once I'm at a loss,"

"Now that we have a studio, don't we need a name for our label," Dani asked.

"Lord Tubbington Records or music,"

"No, I'm allergic to cats," Dani replied

"Snixx music?"

"No, Santana, we can't name everything after you," Kurt answered her.

"Nothing with Lima or Ohio in it please," Elliott interjected

"New Directions Music?" Roderick shouted out

"No! Let's leave glee club where it belongs in the past," Cam responded.

"Triad Seven Music," Franco spoke up.

"Uh?" Santana said, "Why?"

"Chords have three notes. To create a triad seventh, you add another note. There are four basic triad types. Me, Cam, and Jon are the basic chord notes. Lennon is the fourth note. Dani, Elliott, Santana, Rod, are the four lead singers. The triad type depending on who's singing lead. four plus four make eight."

"Oh, I like that idea, Franco," Kurt replied.

Dani counted on her fingers "Rock, blues, jazz, metal all use 7th's."

Franco nodded, "And A seventh can change or set the mood. It's not always the beat. The voice. Or the words of a song. Sometimes a subtle change makes a listener sit up and take notice."

"Is it even available? The web domain?" Blaine asked Brittany, who had picked up her iPad from the counter.

"GoDaddy, has it available," handing the iPad over to Blaine.

Elliott raised his hand. "I vote yes," as the remaining band members raised their hands in a vote.

"Uh, I suppose this means another appointment with the lawyer?" Kitty replied as Roderick came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "You ready to go?" he asked. Santana, Brittany, Kurt, and Elliott with sly smiles on their faces, "Stop it, you guys!" Kitty grumbled.

* * *

After the first week of various combinations of the band, Kitty, Blaine, and Artie showing up at their door to work whenever it fits their schedule. Brittany and Santana created rules to keep their privacy. The first defined hours 9:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m. Second one of them was to be home. Third, no work on Friday after 6:00 p.m. It was their date night. Fourth, clean-up after yourselves. Fifth, their kitchen wasn't their mother's kitchen, if they wanted snacks or drinks, other than tap water, they had to bring it.

For all the angst and disruption, the studio caused their privacy, Brittany, and Santana came to enjoy the camaraderie and creativity it shaped amongst the band members. The three-band geeks, Santana, paid attention just when she needed to in high school. Were caring, funny, smart guys who meshed well with the duo she'd made friends while in the city. Lennon, Santana, remembered from the PFLAG group Dave and Kurt had established at McKinley. She also came to understand Elliott better. He became the peacemaker of the team, Brittany often had to step into reason with her. He wasn't the drama queen of Kurt or Blaine, the impulsive, pouting spoiled brat Santana knew. She watched as Roderick came out of his shell. He started to become more willing to share instead of holding back his suggestions or opinions. His shy demeanor around the girls began to melt away. He and Kitty became a duo, and if they weren't together, they were texting each other. She still thought nothing was happening beyond friendship between roommates, but it was nice to see the changes in both.

The mutual tension between Santana and Dani faded. She'd forgiven Dani for choosing sides during the Fanny debacle. The invisible triangle between the three women Santana always found awkward. Santana knew part it was in her mind. She never cheated on Brittany. Her wife was perfect. Santana reasoned that her concerns were for an old-girlfriend now having to establish a friendship with the woman she loved since high school and wed. Brittany, oblivious to it, dealt with Dani no different from another new acquaintance. Dani had to maneuver between new friendships and established bonds within the band. Her girlfriend, Mel? Santana wasn't a fan. Mel, jealous toward every girl who glanced at Dani, didn't take a Mexican third-eye.

Blaine suggested they change pronouns in Dani's song, making Elliott the lead vocalist with the remaining three adding harmony. Elliott's friend from NYU helped engineer the track, along with nine other songs Santana, Dani, Elliott, Marley, Kurt, and Blaine wrote. Roderick and Jonathan turned out to be the wonder members of the group, with their ability to arrange songs. Jonathan and Franco, the bassist's use of a soundboard, surprised everyone. They re-arranged two songs by other artists that Roderick covered. Brittany got into the act, making suggestions to a dance song, with Elliott doing something like Kurt did in 'Bad Romance' with Santana singing in Spanish. Roderick's trumpet skills and Austin's saxophone skills gave depth to tracks. Santana knew two guys with cellos who added complexity to the songs. Except for Marley's song, they all took credit as writers. After eight weeks of lengthy evenings and Saturdays, in their home studio, working as a team, they'd created their first recorded work for public release. On hearing the final product, Mercedes could only exclaim her enthusiasm with a late-night text to her friends 'Oh Hell to the NO! You guys are the dream!'" Schuester, after hearing the demo Kurt sent, replied in an email with just "Best of luck! Keep me posted."

* * *

It would be great to hear in a review if you find this story enjoyable. Interesting. Piques your curiosity. Any constructive criticism that doesn't involve a stream of obscenities (which will get deleted after I read it) I'd love to read.

* * *

Notes:

Brooklyn College does exist—the auditorium is pure fiction.

Lennon - thought the band needed some girl power. She's the woman who handed Santana the engagement ring.

Happy January Birthday to the Glee actors who's characters appear in this story.

Naya Rivera

Becca Tobin

Noah Guthrie

Adam Lambert


	4. Chapter 4 - Directed by Arthur Abrams

**Naya Rivera **

**(1987-2020) **

**Rest in Power **

* * *

**Directed by Arthur Abrams**

Video 1—Huracán—Between Two Loves

Santana walked up to Artie's chair next to the camera, "What kinda car is that?" A bright red car parked on a green mat with the same green cloth behind it.

Artie whipped his head around, He looked up at his friend with his trademark toothy grin and sparkle of envy in his eyes. "That, Santana, is a Lamborghini Huracán Spyder convertible. It has a sticker price of around 300 grand. It's the sweetest ride you'll ever sit your fine round ass in, I am extremely jealous that you have the excuse to drive it, and I won't."

Santana looked at him with folded arms and raised eyebrows. "What the fuck! Artie!" This was to be a cheap production." She swung her left hand toward the car. "Where did you get that car? Who's paying for it?"

A frown of displeasure passed over Artie's face at the criticism of his directorial decision. "The car belongs to a friend of June Dolloway, the socialite friend of Blaine's." He wiggled his upper torso back toward the car, "That dude over there with the Nero haircut, it belongs to him." Artie used a gloved hand to push his glasses up to rest higher on his nose. "He wants to teach you how to drive the car before you solo in it."

"What happens if I wreck the damn car when he tries to grab a feel?"

"From what I understand, he would prefer to cop a feel of Elliott or Blaine. You're safe." He included a wink to his smirk as he peeked back to see the astonishment in Santana's face. "His name is Jorge. Fluent in Spanish. Get on his good side. He could be helpful."

Artie observed his frenemy from high school work her charm on Jorge. She'd evolved into quite the charmer, he snickered to himself. Skills Santana developed from hustling in the city, going on tour, and her travels with Brittany in Europe after their Greek holiday. Artie wondered why she kept that charm for strangers and not for her friends. He checked his wristwatch. Kurt was no doubt expecting him to approve wardrobe selections. Palms to the wheels, Artie rolled over to the wardrobe tent set up for the shoot. He entered through the flap, "Kurt, what did your friend at Vogue loan us for the shoot?"

Kurt, electrified by his assignment to dress Santana, jumped, his voice going to the high squeak. "Isabelle was so excited when I asked her for help. You know she'll want to see the end product. Maybe she'll hire you to work with 'A-list' models."

"Only if they want to be part of my independent film company, I'm starting after I graduate."

Kurt cleared his throat, his voice back to his normal range "Yeah, we can hope they will. Anyway, Santana looks good in everything, I mean you could throw a trash bag over her, and she'd kill it."

"True, but not for this shoot."

"Right, since the car is red, colors that clash and the reds that blend, I've removed. Which are these here," Waving his hand over dresses in clear garment bags, "That leaves these that I've selected?" Swiping his hand across a dress rack to bring Artie's attention to the attire of various lengths and styles waiting for the young director's approval. "I like black. The yellow, even though it's a pale soft shade that would look good against her brown skin tone. It wouldn't say," looking out the door, "fuck me, if you know what I mean."

Artie nodded, "Exactly what I'm after, Kurt. So long or short?"

"I reviewed your changes to the storyboard. Which is much more descriptive than what you first showed us." Kurt's shoulders drooped as he let his arms relax at his side, "Seriously, Artie? You have her rolling across the front of the car, doing everything short of spreading her legs." Kurt said, "I think it's best to stay with a long basic black gown with minimal adornments to prevent scratching the surface."

"Your choices would be what?"

Kurt pulled out the gown he had in mind, "This from a fashion designer who's been the talk of the fashion industry this year. His shows in Milan and Paris were the must-see of fashion week. They're comparing him to Dior. He apprenticed for Versace, his sister, Donatella, not Gianni."

"OK, you know those names mean nothing to me, Kurt." Artie cleared his throat. "So, I trust you to make the right decision, and you'll deal with any Lima Heights Adjacent flare-ups when they develop while filming."

"Oh, doesn't the director work with the talent?"

"Not today. I'm delegating that to the wardrobe department. You can thank me later. What about add-ons? Shoes, jewelry?" Kurt described his choices for shoes and jewelry. He cautioned Artie that Santana would have to remove the jewelry if she rolled across the front of the car.

Elliott would wear a simple tux when he filmed his part with Santana and blue jeans and t-shirt when he shot with Dani, who'd play the girl back home.

"Where's Kitty, wasn't she in charge of makeup and hair?"

"I'm right here," Kitty entered the tent with Brittany. "We ran over to Starbucks for coffee." Offering Kurt and Artie each a cup. "Anyway, hairstyle? Brittany suggested keeping Santana's hair down like in their wedding. You remember it laid over her shoulders, with the left side pulled back from her face."

"Makeup?"

"Uh well, San is the makeup expert. So, we'll give our opinion after she's done."

"Well, OK, I guess." Artie not sure how to respond, yet knowing that Brittany spoke the truth. "What about Elliott's?"

"Yeah, we'll let Santana do that too."

"OK, Kitty," Artie turned his head as he heard the Lamborghini's engine come to life. He checked his wristwatch, "We're a few minutes early, I didn't consider she'd be so willing to drive the car." He spun his chair around to exit the tent, followed by his friends. As they stepped into the morning light, they watched as Santana behind the wheel maneuvered the car around the vacant parking lot. Artie using his hand to block the rising sun, "I am so envious."

"V10 Multi-Point Injection, 0 to 100 in 10 seconds with a max speed of 200mph. That baby flies," Kurt watched in awe as Santana spun the car around the lot.

"Since when do you know cars, Kurt?" Artie looked up at his friend

"That's not a car, that is a ride in a legal street rocket. The haute couture of autos. Like her dress, Santana belongs in that car."

Brittany listened as Kurt spoke of her wife, realizing he still didn't understand Santana. He only saw her outside the bitch diva, when inside she's a sweet Almond Joy. "No, San's a hoarder with her cars, she wouldn't have any place to store her poops."

Kitty grinned at the taller blonde, amused by Brittany's oddball statements, "Come on, girl, let's go set up Santana's makeup."

Kitty stayed as the shoot progressed through the day. She chuckled when she heard Santana threatened to go all Lima Heights Adjacent on Artie's sorry ass out of pure frustration with his direction. The short blonde considered Kurt a hero to go between them then agree with Santana that the moves Artie wanted around the car weren't working. While Kurt walked Santana to the tent to refresh her makeup and cool down, she helped Brittany create choreography that would work. Kitty, in jeans, managed a roll across the front of the Lamborghini, not a slippery evening dress. They tossed it. Artie objected, she pointed her finger at him, 'Don't!' A disgruntled Artie huffed, backing away from the women.

The dance sequence with Elliott required several retakes when Santana and Elliott giggled as they peered into each other's eyes. Kurt stepped in to try it with both, only to find he too fell into a fit of giggles. Again, Brittany stepped in to alter the dance moves, leaving out Artie's guidance of 'I need to see lust. Desire. Look at each other as prurient aphrodisiacs. Unrestrained in want and ruttishness.' Brittany hinted to the two to 'act like you want to fuck.' The driving scene with Santana behind the wheel went without error, although when she turned the car back onto the green mat, she missed the mark, causing a retake. The do-over was perfect. With Jorge at the wheel, Artie went on his car ride.

"Hey," Dani came up behind Kitty, who monitored Brittany as she guided Elliott through a dance move, "how's it going?"

"I'd say it's been pleasant. Santana has murdered nobody. Elliott hasn't quit. And lucky for us, Artie can't leave his chair.

"That bad?"

"Nah, not really. Artie has different expectations of what she can do in an evening gown with a car. Lucky for you that Brittany is a fucking great choreographer, or we'd have the cops here."

"I guess that's a good thing."

"The day we met was also the first time you met Brittany, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was. Not the phantom I expected." Kitty threw a curious glance at Dani, "Santana never spoke about her, but she was a constant while we dated."

"You two never stayed friends on Facebook?"

"No, when I left home, I closed down my Facebook account. I didn't want my parents to find me. When San and I broke up, I started a new account. How I found out about the engagement was Rachel and Kurt sharing the posts. The wedding too."

"Ouch. That must have hurt."

"The story of my life, new beginnings."

"Well, we're all Lima misfits, but we stick together, no man or woman gets left behind. No matter the fuck up, you're always welcomed back."

"That so?"

"Yep," Kitty nodded "And as creepy cult-like, and as it sounds, they're more a family too me, than my own."

"Family is a circle of friends we create for ourselves."

"Hey, Dani, is it?" Brittany walked up to the two women, "Like you're Dani. Right? I mean, the awesome Dani I met had normal colored hair, not blue. This is like a good thing because Artie will lose it if you're Dani, and you've changed the color of your hair before a shoot. After all that, Dani is a sweet country girl. Which means a young Carrie Underwood. But like Kitty and I know, blondes are born with magical power, like doing the splits or turning Swedish."

Kitty looked over at Dani, "It's best just to smile right now." following her own advice, "Did you get glam gay and graceful dancing again?"

"No, just calmed Artie. You know, for a robot he's impatient. Like none of my quantitative algorithms are impatient. I just hit the enter key, and they process until they reach the end. I'm wondering if Artie hasn't gotten ahold of that emotion chip like Data in Star Trek wanted? If it's true, then it needs to go, like ASAP."

"Artie's about to call it a day, Brittany. He has a date tonight with a girl from his school. He'll be calmer at tomorrow's shoot."

"I sure hope so. I wouldn't want that awesome Dani to have to deal with him like Santana had too. She might leave the band, and they need her light lyric mezzo-soprano, with her 3-octave range."

Something distracted all three as Santana strode as fast as she could away from the car toward the tent, "I don't want to hear it, Kurt. I want to go home with my wife, sit on the couch, watch a rom-com on Netflix, drink wine, and get my cuddle on later. Why? Because I have to spend all day Sunday reading to catch-up on my Psychology of Women elective. While Britt is grading papers!"

"Santana!" Kurt screeched following behind her "It's just two photos to send home to our parents. Britt, help me out here, please."

"Honey," Brittany reached out, grabbing Santana, she brought her in for a hug, Santana relaxed into her wife's body with a sigh. "Let me take the pictures."

Santana's frustrated anger died away into mumble on Brittany's shoulder, "Make it quick."

"Sure. Cos, I want to go home and get our cuddle on too." Brittany kissed Santana's hair.

"OK. But just a couple." Santana took her wife's hand to lead her back to the car to pose with Elliott and Kurt.

Dani gave Kitty a confused expression, "What the fuck was that?"

Kitty threw her hands up with a shrug of her shoulders, "No clue. Brittany magic. She complimented you when she mentioned your vocal range. Before that, she threw you a hint that the blue hair has to go. I assume it's a temporary dye?"

Dani nodded as she used her fingers to comb through her hair.

"Yeah, natural hair color is what Artie expects tomorrow." Kitty shrugged, "Just a suggestion."

Video 2—The Rope—So Strong

For the second video, they produced a more conventional video using Marley's song. Artie added flair to what was another pop-driven love song. "What you'll do is grab the rope, place a foot the loop, then swing in front of the camera. I've had two ropes placed on each side," pointing to the rope hanging a few feet away. "Meaning two can swing at once and cross paths in front of the camera."

Elliott tugging on the cable, "Will the rope bear my weight?".

"Yes, they're capable of holding up to 1000 pounds, with a max weight of 300."

Roderick adjusting his glasses as he tilted his head up, "How are they anchored?"

"No clue. The rigging class took care of that for me. But the riggers assured me they tested the ropes."

"With what a Barbie doll?" Santana's remark meant to irritate the aspiring director.

"No, Rolle, a student at the school. His hobby is weightlifting. He competes in the 109 kg and over class, which should cover your almost anorexic weight with ease Santana along with Roderick's and Elliott's, too."

"Hey, Artie," Santana called out, flipping the bird at him. "Muscle weighs more than fat."

"A BMI of 18 is still underweight!"

"It's 19 wheels!"

"Are you subtracting the four pounds of weight you carry in those boob bags you had crammed into your rib cage to build your tremendous twins? In all likelihood, not."

"Be glad you're in a chair. Otherwise, I'd challenge you to a race to the top, one your sorry ass would lose!"

Artie rotated in his chair, "A challenge I'd win because men have better upper body strength than women. So, your challenge Santana is a moot point regardless if I'm in this chair or not."

"All right enough!" Blaine ordered as he joined the group in the studio, "The more you two kids argue, the longer we all have to be here." Stopping when he came to Artie, "OK, what's the plan?"

Artie swiveled back in his chair back toward the drummer, who was setting up his drum set on the platform. "To continue, Cam is setting his drum set in the conventional center stage position. On my left will be Lennon covering synth in place of Dani, who is standing in front of her on lead guitar. In the center will be Elliott and Santana, who are singing lead. Next to Santana will be Rod on acoustic guitar. Behind him are Franco, on bass, and Jon on rhythm guitar. Once they get here, Austin on alto sax and Dani's girlfriend Mel on baritone sax will be behind Roderick. Since the original track overlaid Santana and Dani's voices, Brittany and Kitty will sing backup." Breathless, Artie ended his description.

"Wait, your girlfriend plays sax, Dani?"

"High school marching band, orchestra, woodwind ensemble."

"You know Artie, the baritone sax doesn't play a big part in the music. Is there a way we can add it to the last track, and Mel can stand with Britt and Kitty? Make the band visually more appealing. Bigger. Not a have a garage band look."

Artie shook his head, "That would ruin my esthetic vision of how I set up this scene, Blaine. As an artist myself, I must insist on creative control of this video."

"Loosen up, Artie. It was just a question." Blaine squeezed Artie's shoulder. "Wardrobe, will they be wearing their street clothes, or does your vision have something else?"

"Santana will be in skin-tight black leather pants courtesy of Vogue, with a white widow maker shirt that enhances her, uh… her uh…"

"Twins, gotcha, go on."

Artie cleared his throat, "Dani also in black leather pants and her leather jacket. Elliott and Roderick will wear black jeans with wine or burgundy sweaters, Elliott in a V-neck, Roderick in crew neck, with black boots. To even out the height differences, Dani and Santana will be in black heeled boots of their choosing. The band and backup singers will also be in black jeans and black crew neck sweaters."

"It's kinda monochrome, don't you think?"

"Well, the floor is a light natural wood, and the back wall is brick, bringing out a simple organic texture to the composition. The purpose here, Blaine, is to feature the song, the music, and lyrics to what is, in essence, a love song."

"True, how about makeup?"

"I've asked both Dani and Santana to keep their makeup light and natural. Same with their hair. Well, I didn't speak soon enough, Dani has gone blonde overnight. Fortunately, it will still work with the floor being a light shade, plus Brittany and Kitty are natural blondes. I wish she'd ask before she does that next time. The reason I went with this monochrome look was both she and Santana had burgundy highlights in their hair."

"Women change their hair like they change their underwear," Blaine kept his voice low. "Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about another video?"

"Another video? Speak to me."

"I looked over the finances. If we keep it simple, we could swing another video."

"What song would you use?"

"Santana's boyfriend song."

"Oh, you mean the song she wrote for Brittany while they were on their honeymoon in the Bahamas for an entire month. The one where she wisely changed the gender before recording it?"

"Yeah, that one, it's got a sweet, airy Caribbean sound to it, it might broaden our demographic. If parents like it and it's not selling sexy, then they may let their kids buy the downloads. Hook the kids while they're young, then they'll follow us into adulthood."

"First that song is about lesbian lovers if that story gets out you can throw any demographic, except for lesbians, out the window. Second, what's with the plural pronouns? I thought we were helping, not part of the group."

"To answer your questions, Melissa Etheridge and the Indigo Girls' wrote their songs with women in mind. And at some point, if they become successful. Hiding the fact that three-quarters of the band's lead singers are gay will be like trying to hide Mt. Rushmore behind a baby's blanket. To answer your second question, until they're ready to fly on their own, we're a team."

Artie held his chin in his gloved hand as in deep thought, "Do you remember when Santana danced with the new Spanish teacher at McKinley?"

"Yeah, it was hot when she put Schue in his place. Since she did it on purpose." Blaine snickered.

"That it was, but Santana's performance lacked any pretense. She conveyed her message by stripping everything away to keep it simple. No theatricality like we did or Schue. I'm wondering if Brittany could choreograph a dance for Elliott, with Santana? The school has a laser device that we" Artie emphasizing 'we,' "could use."

"Wasn't that a samba, Artie? I have in mind a Calypso, I mean the soundtrack includes steel drums. We could get everyone together, throw a party, something along those lines."

"Blaine, it's fall. Anyone outside in beachwear would be fricking blue. Lights would be a nightmare."

"Or not. Consider it, Artie."

Video 3—We're All Adults—Love Dance

Streetlights lit the pavement as Artie wheeled his course toward an unpretentious brick building. The windows darkened out to ward off outsiders from seeing inward for privacy. A neon sign above the door with 'Cashmere's Gentlemen's Club.' Below that, a hint 'Must be 21 to Enter.'

Roderick watched Cam, Jon, Franco, and Artie all dug into their pockets for their billfolds. Each chose a plastic photo ID to hand over to the doorman, who sported a hawk tattoo from ear to ear across his neck. "Uh, I'm not 21."

"We're not here for the entertainment. We're here to scope out a location for your next video." Artie grinned as he turned to the doorman with his ID. "Is Cashmere here tonight?"

"Boss is in the back. I'll tell her you're here, Artie."

Roderick handed over his ID to the dour security doorman. Who scanned his ID card. The guy gave it back, "Cover for you is 250. You're underage."

"Oh, my bad," Artie retrieved more money from his wallet. "My treat, Rod. You can reimburse me later."

Roderick shifted his glasses upon his face, "Uh, OK, Thanks, I guess." He accompanied his buddies into the business. Blue lights floated from the ceiling, illuminating the floor. Techno-music emanated from old-school big box speakers mounted to the side stage. A woman sporting a g-string whirled around a pole on stage, a white spotlight fixated on her as she performed. Roderick's mouth agape as he watched his first stripper dance in person and not from a video he'd snuck from his old man's collection. A swat to his leg drew his attention back to his companions, who sat at a table.

"Rod, this is Cashmere. She owns the club. And is a good friend of mine."

"Rod, good to meet ya. I always welcome any friend of my boy Artie." A middle-aged woman with too much makeup, but the body of a woman half her age smiled at Roderick. "So whatcha having? I'll have Billy bring it over."

Rod seated next to Artie, leaned in to listen over the music, "Cashmere helped me when my chair became wedged in a doorway at the bodega around the corner. Her sister has cerebral palsy. We've been buddies ever since." He shrieked in Roderick's ear. Roderick nodded. He kept an eye on a girl who couldn't have been much younger than him, walk toward their table. She draped her arms around Cam, who didn't complain as the girl nuzzled his neck. Again Artie raised his voice near Roderick's ear, "That's Allegra, but her actual name is Olivia. She's hot for drummers." Roderick nodded again as a woolly arm sat a glass in front of him. He sipped from the glass, plain Coke, Cashmere must have been told, or conjectured his age. The music paused for a new dancer to take the stage as the patrons waited. He overheard Allegra squeal to Jon, who she called Torch. She used nicknames for all the men at the table. Artie was Wheels. Franco was Rif. Cam, she called Sticks. Jon was Astro for the dog in the Jetsons. Roderick, she christened RamRod.

As the next dancer started her act, Allegra disappeared, but not before running her hand up Roderick's back. He got a shiver down his spine at the touch. Rod watched as his friends dug out dollar bills from their pockets, all shoving the bills into shirt pockets. An abrupt awareness that he'd come unprepared for the evening's entertainment. He relaxed back into his chair, thanking Kitty for talking him into following her to NYU. Brittany for suggesting he audition. Dani, Elliott, and Santana for choosing him. And Artie, for paying his way into Cashmere's. Roderick laughed to himself, pondering that this adult life was a good thing.

* * *

Santana surveyed the gentleman's club. It differed little from the lesbian club where she'd caged danced. An oval-shaped bar with a center stage and two poles dominated the room. She identified two satellite platforms, each with a pole and primary stage with a single pole—all with stairs for the artists to enter or exit. Cushioned chairs and tables lined the stairs for both on each side. She guessed blue LED lights illuminated the area. Padded armless chairs, arranged around tables with enough room for the staff and clients to maneuver, covered the open floor space. Off to one side, a heavy drape hung from a hallway. Santana guessed it led to the secluded VIP suites. At the bar, a burly man with woolly arms mopped around the bar. He nodded an acknowledgment when he looked at Santana, Dani, and Kitty walk-in with Artie and Kurt.

Kurt, his head bent toward the ceiling, scanned the room, "Artie, this isn't the vision I think the band wants to convey."

Artie twisted his chair that he'd parked between the bar and tables, then whirled around to confront his companions, "No, it's perfect." His toothy grin displayed as he readjusted his glasses, "Dani and Santana on the poles, scantily clad." He pointed toward the bar stage, "The band on that stage." He raised his hand toward the music hall stage. "Then Roderick and Elliott on the satellite stages. Uh, probably in jeans and a tee."

"Yeah, I've got to agree with Kurt here, Artie." Kitty peered down to spot what she'd step on before she started forward, "Not the image they want to communicate."

"No look," he reached behind his back to pull out a sketch pad. He found the sketches he'd prepared, flipping it around to illustrate his concept. "We'll pack the place with classmates. Then Dani and Santana will work the poles exquisitely. Rod and Elliott stumbling around the poles. Jon and Franco gliding up and down while playing. Lennon and Cam will try them too."

Dani scratched her head, "One problem with that. I've never danced on a pole. So you can ditch that perfect idea."

"Not a problem." Artie nodded toward Billy, who moved a hand beneath the bar. Cashmere entered from a door behind her, followed by Allegra. "You have coaches." He beamed, resisting Dani's argument.

Cashmere sized up Artie's three female companions. She realized the short blonde would appeal to a few patrons whose preferences leaned toward the young woman's petite frame. But the two dark-haired women could make a livelihood as dancers. Not to overlook, build up her business. Both were beautiful. Long black hair that framed flawless faces. Eyes that sparkled when they smiled. Straight white teeth. Their tight yoga pants emphasized well-shaped asses. Cashmere observed the posture of the taller of the two, her low-cut cropped tee, shoulders back. She'd venture a few grand that the pride in the way the woman carried herself came from breast surgery. Both she surmised came from at least middle-class homes: ethnicity, Hispanic, but a blend of European or even Black forebears. Exotic either way generated cash, even in Brooklyn. "Who wants to learn to pole dance?"

Dani's jaw fell, "Uh..."

Next to her, Santana handed Kitty her bag, removed her tunic, "I'll try it." She followed Cashmere up the stairs of the music hall stage.

Cashmere, impressed by the taller woman's eagerness to learn, as she watched Santana climb the stairs to the stage. She presumed that attitude of hers didn't come from experience but over-confidence. She turned toward Santana, gripping the chrome pole next to her. "Have you done this before?"

Santana viewed the older woman with amusement in her eyes. "Yeah, I have. You might want to step back." She grasped the pole with her hand above her head, opted for an outside turn rotating around the pole. Accompanied that with a pirouette. Santana kept her hand on the pole, the other she placed below her waist, grasping the pole. She leaned back onto the vertical cylinder with one foot that she rested on her thigh. With both feet on the floor, she walked around the chrome tube. Then lifted a leg off the floor to swing around, lifting both feet up as she clutched the pole between her legs to move to a fireman's spin. Santana proceeded with the moves she knew chair spin and back hook spin. With each shift accentuating her legs, ass or breasts. To display her upper arm power, she worked a knee tuck., Then a climb and seat moves to sell her leg strength. She freed her hands to spread her arms out to the side. Santana wrapped up with the stereotypical pole moves of cartwheel and carousel.

At the end of Santana's exhibition, Cashmere stared over at her, "Need a job?"

"Uh, no." flaunting her wedding ring, "Wife doesn't enjoy horny men pawing me." It was a white lie. She didn't enjoy men pawing her.

"Fair enough. But a shame. You'd rake it in here."

In the hour that followed before the bar opened, the now three teachers helped Dani. Whose new hobby kick-boxing gave her the strength to pick up the basic movements with ease. Kitty and Kurt took a turn on the pole. Kitty's dance and gymnastic training granted her an advantage in the exercise. Kurt's movements were a step above his dance moves. His newfound upper arm strength proved the difference. Artie, entertained with the results, shoved his glasses up, smirking as he planned to himself, 'this is gonna be great.'

* * *

Artie, arms crisscrossed. He held his chin down in his palm as he observed Kurt's picks for the stripper pole video. "No, Kurt, that's not my vision." He shook his head.

"Excuse me? I assumed you wanted Dani and Santana scantly clothed? Isn't that what you said?"

Artie dropped his hands to wheel closer, "I did. But my vision didn't consist of boy shorts and sports bras. Where are the above the knee black platform boots? Lacey Victoria Secret bras? The thongs? You're making an exercise video sans Richard Simmons."

"Artie, it's a YouTube music video, not one for Pornhub. You can't put either of the girls in clothes like that and expect children to watch it."

"Kurt, we're trying to pull in viewers, that includes adult men. And wasn't it Brittany who said sex sells?"

"If you want lecherous old men and horny adolescent males, it does! But it's women who buy the music. Who asks their boyfriends to take them out to clubs."

"And the song is about having sex. That's the essence of the song. We're not making an exercise video to sell to middle-class homemakers in Lima. It's about how Brittany turns Santana on. When she dances."

Pointing toward Artie's storyboard, "You're shooting in a striptease club..."

"Gentlemen's Club." Artie corrected Kurt

"Whatever! You've got Dani and Santana giving Elliott and Roderick lap dances! That wasn't part of the vision you explained to us two days ago." Kurt collected his fashion storyboards. "You've got them using whips for God's sake!" he turned toward his friend, "None of which are in the song!"

Both distracted by the noise of the bolt clicking in the lock as the door pushed open to see Blaine with Roderick. Along with the three male band members. Blaine tossed his keys in the basket next to the door. "What's going on, guys? We heard you from down the hall." He walked over to Kurt to give him a welcome home kiss. Blaine noticed the strained irritation in his husband's face. "Kurt?" he angled to glance at Artie, "Artie?"

"Just. Just look at Artie's latest storyboard concept for the video, Blaine. Tell me if you agree with me."

"Alright." Blaine scanned over to Artie's drawings to examine each pane "Wow!" nodding his head "Wow. That's. That's um cutting edge."

Roderick beside Blaine looked over the drawings, "Uh, I've never had a lap dance before, and I not sure I want my first to be with either Dani or Santana."

"Santana is with you, Roderick, Dani's partner is Elliott," Artie clarified for the men in the room.

Roderick felt a slap on his shoulder, "Dude, you've never had a lap dance. If you want to punch that card, I can arrange something with Olivia. Uh, Allegra, or one of her friends."

Roderick pushed up his glasses, then slid his fingers into his jean pockets. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Cam."

"If you're declining the part, me or Jon would be glad to take over for you. Who gives a shit if she's married." Roderick felt Franco jab his elbow to his ribs.

"Yeah," Blaine's face changing to a shade of red as he tuned in to the conversation, "I don't think that's the point here." Blaine narrowed his lips as he struggled to figure out how to reason with Artie that this wasn't a brilliant concept. "Artie, I appreciate your creative vision, but you just need to tone it down and take out the lap dances. Maybe the whips too."

"And the clothing Blaine?"

"Uh, well, I understand exercise clothes... uh, won't work here, Kurt. How about a nice one-piece black swimsuit? That might work." He waved a hand toward the drawing, "Or a low-cut two-piece suit that you'd spot a woman wearing at the beach."

Kurt glimpsed a smirk on Artie's face, "And the boots?"

"Uh, well..."

"Olivia says they expect the platform shoes during shows."

Blaine let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, "Let the girls choose. They may not even have platforms."

"Blaine, we're talking about Santana, her shoe collection requires its own U-Haul to move."

* * *

Kurt, with reluctance, acquiesced to Artie. He found a cage neck top with high waist bikini bottoms for Dani to wear. Santana found a halter top, which Kurt embellished with tassels and a low-cut bikini bottom. He altered both to get rid of the silver clasps and insignia's from the suits. Cursing as he worked, still not liking the impression the video would leave with the viewers. Inside, Kurt wondered if he wasn't a prude about the whole concept. He selected business suits from Elliott and Roderick's closets. Not having a choice, but he thanked God for Olivia, who came through to loan Dani an extra pair of platforms she'd just purchased. He again acknowledged Santana for saving her cage dancer platforms.

The filming took two weekends since they could only have access to the bar during off-hours. Billy, the bartender, grumbled at the early hours he'd have to cover. Cashmere slipped him an extra $400 and told him to enjoy the show. Artie shot each of the four leads alone, performing their own pole dance. The same with the band, mixing the foursome into twosomes. He coupled up Dani and Elliott, the same with Santana and Roderick. Not liking what he saw, he reversed the duos. Artie chastised Santana for Roderick's makeup. It was too red. Santana shot back, 'He's embarrassed. Cut the lap dance, for fuck's sake! No one likes it.' The last shot was the entire band performing on stage, all in street clothes. He and his school buddy Amir would edit the video into a dream sequence. The video would start with then on stage, cutting between the pole dances, to end with them back on stage.

_Video 4—Calypso— El Caribe_

Artie chose a Bushwick parking lot for their street party video. Brittany choreographed a Calypso dance aided by the sudden arrival of Mike Chang, who was in New York for an interview with Ailey Dance Studio. Artie incurred higher costs when he stood firm on running multiple cameras, handheld, dolly based, and a drone equipped camera. The shoot required extra dancers. Kurt put out an appeal at NYADA, plus Brittany's colleagues and pupils from her work. When the neighborhood got wind of the party, the entire shoot grew into a flash mob. Artie lost control.

Later, as Artie viewed the footage from the day. He realized that no amount of direction could embody or capture the authentic joy expressed on the faces of his friends, the dancers, and those from the neighborhood. The camera had caught not only Brittany and Santana dancing together. Blaine and Kurt. Dani and Mel. Elliott with a male NYADA student. Kitty with Roderick. Mike with a group of little children, teaching them the dance. Plus, men and women of color and diverse ages dancing with each other. Artie picked up his phone, "Amir, where are you?… Apologize to your parents and get your butt over to the editing room. I need your help. Oh, and bring me a container of your Mom's couscous. I haven't had dinner yet. No. No camel. Still, haven't got my head around eating camel. Thanks."

_Video Premiere Night_

The team gathered at Rachel and Jesse's apartment to view the four videos that the band had produced under Artie's direction. Kurt sat on the couch next to Blaine, a large bowl of popcorn in this lap. "Rachel, we need an honest opinion on the videos."

"Don't worry, I've never hesitated with constructive criticism on a performance. Even yours."

"Rachel is a master at performance evaluation." Jesse squeezed his girlfriend closer to his body. "And because of her guidance, I'm a better performer."

"Yeah, well with that, our first video is Dani's song 'Between Two Loves'" Artie point the remote at the screen to start the video. Rachel extracted herself from Jesse's grasp to grab the paper and pen from the coffee table. Ten minutes after the video ended, Rachel quit writing notes.

"Well, the concept is somewhat dated. I mean, turn on Hallmark, and you'll have your pick of country girl versus city girl. The choreography too simple. It's missing that wow factor. Although the car was impressive, the staging came off more like an advertisement for a car than a music video. Costumes, Dani's outfit was a little to Daisy Dukes for my taste. Santana's too elegant for the setting. Elliott was by far the most appropriate in either scenario. As far as vocals go, Dani, your range though impressive, you sounded a little muffled at the low end, and you pushed at the higher end. Santana too nasal. And Elliott, your belting sounded more like a scream queen."

"Who invited you?"

Kurt swiveled around, "Santana criticism is part of the art of performance."

Artie took the nod from Elliott as a cue and pointed the remote toward the TV. "Next video is So Strong written by Marley Rose."

Rachel's criticism was brief. The band faded into the background because of the poor lighting choices and the ropes an unnecessary prop, more a distraction than a needed addition. Dani's belt was impressive, as were Elliotts. Santana's voice fitted the garage band tone of the music, though she needed to work on her head voice. Roderick should work on his vocal technique. Cam, the g-string on his guitar, sounded sharp. Mel's breathing technique was inconsistent while playing the sax. Brittany was off a beat with the tambourine.

"OK, let go to the next video." Artie pushed the play button on the remote.

The screen flickered. Santana appeared in a sheer black lace teddy with a neckline that plunged to above her waistline and tied at her nape. The back opened to a strapped thong with black boots up to her knees. On the stage, Roderick sat on a chair in his usual western shirt and jeans.

"Wait! We didn't film this." Artie looked over to Britt, who'd brought the DVD. "Where did this come from?" Brittany looked back, her arms folded her eyebrows raised in surprise.

Santana stood in front of Roderick, facing him. The camera taking in her round ass. Her head turned with a tilt toward the camera. Like a curtain, her hair fell as her large sleepy eyes and full lips peeked around to start this game of seduction.

She turned to face the camera. With a polished grace, Santana crossed her torso with her arms. Her right hand on her left shoulder, she rested her left hand on her right hip, extending her right leg out to her side. Her eyes stared into the camera, and with a slight parting of her lips, she slid the hand resting on her hip down, touching her thigh. Passed her knee, onto her calf, to her ankle. This caused her hip to jut out, now stressing her ass as the focal point. She positioned her free arm outward for balance. When she reached her ankle, she reversed the process, this time using both her hands to caress leg. When she reached her hip, she crossed her body with both palms in a sensual massage. Clasping her neck up into her hair as she ended with them behind her head. Santana jerked her elbows out. The action thrust her chest out as she brought her legs together.

Santana stepped forward. Next, she whipped back around to face Roderick, where she gave him lustful body rolls. She dropped to a squat position with both hands on her knees, then grabbed the seat between Roderick's knees for balance; she pushed up. A brief display of her bare ass filled the camera as she stood up. Santana walked around the back of the chair as she grazed a finger across Roderick's shoulder, then neck, to wrap her arms around him. Her hair fell like a drape. With slow precision, she slid her hands back to his shoulders to continue around the chair. Once she'd reached the opposite side, she lifted her heeled foot onto Roderick's thigh, grabbing his head to lean it into her hips, which she rolled with unchaste wickedness. She released him from her grasp as she placed her foot back to the floor. Santana stepped back in front of him to face the camera where she performed four short moves composed of undulating hips and shoulder shimmies. In a swift movement, Santana bent over. She extended her left arm between her legs, landing on her hand at the base of her butt. Then brought her hand forward in a rubbing motion across her lady bits. Santana ended the move with an abrupt drop back into a squat. To bring herself back erect, she swayed her hips and shoulders with a sinuous full-body wave. Her knees twisting in and out on the balls of her feet as though she were dancing.

Santana rolled her hips two times to the left, followed by two to the right. Her hands in a palpable erotic chest massage, around her neck, going up through her hair, popping her elbow out. Santana made a sharp turn back toward Roderick. She bent down, her voluptuous breasts lurched forward, affording Roderick a view that few men would ever see. As she moved her hands between his legs, resting them on the chair for balance before sliding her hands onto Roderick's thighs. Santana took his hand in hers. She drew him up off the chair as she raised their hands above her shoulder. Together they walked forward four steps. Her hips undulated as she walked. She released his hand so Santana could once more roll her body before a sudden drop back into a brief squat. She worked a booty bounce, then using her hands to push off from her knees to stand. Santana placed a hand on his chest with a sensual rub across it. She again lowered her body down into a squat. Another booty bounce followed, with a pop to stand. Santana walked around him, sitting on the chair. She twisted her head back and forth, caressing her own body until her hands lay on her knees. She snapped her legs apart. Her right hand on the back of the seat to steady herself, Santana lifted her ass from the chair. With her free hand, she rubbed across her chest down toward her center. Her ass fell back on the chair, she once again snapped her legs apart. Next, she kicked a leg up, leaning over her hands at her ankle as she ran them in a smooth motion up her calf, over her knee, her thigh. Her inner hand reached the area between her legs. She stopped. Her other hand continued upward, stopping to caress her ass cheek.

Santana stood, then rotated to face the chair. She bent over her hands on the seat. She twerked her ass in front of Roderick. With one smooth motion, she dropped back down to bounce for two booty pops while her head whipped back to look at the man she entertained. Next, she kneeled down on the stage. With her hands on the floor, she crept to extend her upper body forward, while she kept her ass in the air. When her elbows touched the floor, she rolled onto her back. Her knees up, she raised her feet off the ground, snapping her legs apart as she extended them. With a quick move, she slapped her inner thighs with her hands; she slid them down to her pleasing lady parts.

Santana moved her feet back on the floor. She hit the floor with her palms as she raised her hips up. With a fluid motion, she raised her arms above her head. Again she lowered her hips to the floor while her hands moved back to rest on her bikini waxed mons pubis. Again she raised and rolled her hips in a suggestive motion, running her hands to her breasts, then turned over to her side. She shifted back onto her hands and knees. Santana gazed at Roderick as her tongue wetted her lips. The act of a feral, untamed animal ready to pounce on her prey. She gave a subtle wink as she rose from the floor to stand. Her lean, toned body swayed in erotic rolls, thrusts, and shimmies that enticed the young man's senses.

Roderick took Santana's hand when offered. She led him back to the chair, hands-on shoulders she pushed into back into the chair. She performed another sassy, sexy dance filled with body rolls, shimmies, and twerks in front of him. Roderick raised his hands to touch her, then thought better of it. His fingers stretched out to roll into fists that rested on his lap. Santana finished with another drop to the floor and booty pop as the music ended.

Roderick removed his glasses. He used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Brittany came from behind the camera hugging her wife to squeal, "That was the best performance ever."

Artie pulled at his polo shirt, "Yeah, I need a cold shower."

Franco let out the deep breath he held, "Same here."

Cam his phone to his ear, "Hey Olivia, it's me. I don't suppose I could come over right now?"

Blaine took the bowl of popcorn from Kurt's lap. "I know it's only Tuesday, and we both have an early class tomorrow, but do you want to go home?"

Kurt stood from the sofa, "Right behind you, boo."

Jesse slapped the arm of the sofa, "I hate to be rude, but you all need to go."

Kitty glanced over at Roderick. "Let me guess you need a cold shower too?"

"Are you kidding? I've been taking cold showers all week."

Elliott pulled his billfold from his pocket, he removed five twenty-dollar bills handing both to Santana, "Well deserved."

Lennon leaned over to Dani. "When you two dated, did she dance for you?"

"That's for me to know. And you never to find out."

Jon nudged Roderick's shoulder. "Dude, can I get a copy of that video?"

Brittany walked over to the DVD player. She bent down to push the eject button, "He can't. Cos he doesn't have one. That's mine to share." From her pocket, she drew out a penknife, using it to make scratches across each side of the shiny disc.

Rachel looked around at her friends with a huff. "Doesn't anyone want to hear my comments?"

Santana glance over to Artie with a wink and a nod before she mouthed, 'you're welcome.'

**Notes:**

The lap dance is an attempt to combined some Naya's Glee numbers with a scene or two from Step Up Highwater.

Any song title I have in the story, you could Google to find at least one song with the same title. Just the way it is. Use my suggested message, or rhythm or style, to choose your own song. If it is one that Adam, Demi, Naya, or Noah recorded, well, all the better.


	5. Chapter 5 - Doubters and Champions

**Chapter 5—Doubters and Champions**

To those reading and commenting Thank You!

Warning quite a bit of dialogue in this chapter.

* * *

**Potluck**

They held the third potluck of the semester at Rachel and Jesse's. Blaine and Kurt arrived early to catch both hosts up on the band's progress. Rachel had a demo of the recorded music, giving Blaine seven pages of constructive criticism. Blaine gave it to Kurt. In a low voice to his husband after scanning through the critique, 'Rachel wrote a comparative essay on her and Jesse's voices versus the leads. Not helpful'

Jesse offered Blaine a glass of wine. Then strolled over to the sofa to relax before their guests arrived as Rachel and Kurt finished preparations in the kitchen. "I've got to give you credit, Blaine, sticking your neck out with Dolloway for a cover band that'll entertain at casinos and state fairs for years. That takes balls."

"I'm sorry you think that way, Jesse. You must not have listened to the demo I gave Rachel."

"Oh, I did. I thought the song choices puerile. The arrangements withered. The harmonies lacked any cohesion from all the vocalists." He sipped from his wineglass, "If they make it, their destiny is cult status among rural radio stations. Locked in between Saturday polka nights and classical Sunday mornings."

Blaine reflected on Jesse's harsh evaluation, at a loss for words to how to react to his under whelmed opinion. He often disagreed with Jesse on nuances of an artist's performance, but to hear Jesse rip apart something he took pride in was more than a low blow. "You know, Jesse, I spoke with Madame Tibideaux. She listened to the demo, and she had nothing but praise for the music. I have it in an email."

"Blaine, let me be honest with you. You're not meant to be a producer of pop artists. Sure, you can belt out a Katy Perry song whenever the need arises, but you're a gifted composer and lyrist who'll waste your time on a one-hit-wonder band."

"Sure, Kurt and I want to write a Broadway show, but that still years away. And we feel working with the band on their goals is an excellent step toward our goal." Jesse and Blaine's conversation disrupted by a knock on the door and the arrival of Elliott and his date, Patrick.

Elliott's curried red lentil and pumpkin soup Rachel added between her roasted carrot salad with feta cheese and Kurt's chicken tikka masala.

The band members arrived next with Olivia in tow. Lennon handed Rachel a plastic grocery bag from Wal-Mart. It contained their contributions to the potluck. Rachel responded at seeing the contents 'Lovely, I'm sure someone will want a ham and cheese sandwich on white with ketchup.' And for dessert, pre-made chocolate chip cookie dough, along with half a bag of Doritos. Jon apologizing that they had gotten hungry on the subway ride.

Artie rolled in the door with Sushi for one he'd picked up on his way over to the potluck. Kitty and Roderick brought a spinach chickpea and quinoa salad. Kitty pointed out Roderick didn't help in the preparation, but held the dish in one hand while standing as the subway train made its rocking way into the city. Dani and Mel added their leftover sesame glazed salmon dish when they arrived. Dani admitting she took no credit in the preparation just watched her chef in action.

Santana and Brittany were last to arrive. Santana warned Rachel that Brittany had added salami to their Dominican spaghetti dish. Brittany confessing that she couldn't remember if Rachel practiced veganism or vegetarianism this week? Or had Rachel moved to a pescatarian diet this month? Maybe she should try beeganism or flexitarianism diets? It was all so confusing. Perhaps it would be easier for everyone if Rachel stayed a vegan before 6pm.

Another knock sent Rachel running to the door, "Oh my god! Mercedes! Mike! And Sam!"

"Hey, girl! Hope ya don't mind us crashin' the potluck. Blaine told me about the preview tonight, so I swung through Chicago to pick up Mike. Then met Sam at Kennedy."

Sam gave Rachel an enthusiastic bear-hugged. "Ya, this is like my first New York movie premiere, sorry I left my tux back in Lima."

"Uh, help yourselves to the food and drinks. Honey, can you get the extra folding chairs?"

"I'll help you, Jesse," Mike gave Rachel a warm hug then followed Jesse.

"You should know everyone." She glanced around the room, "Oh, I don't think you've met everyone's dates. That's Mel, Dani's partner" Mel waved her hand "Olivia is with Cam. Uh, is it Michael or Matthew?" Rachel pointed to the man next to Elliott, "Oh, OK, Patrick, is with Elliott. These are our amazing friends Sam, Mike, and the fabulous Ms. Mercedes Jones, one of our backers."

Mercedes turning to Rachel, "Our backers, Rachel?"

"Well, I've been providing moral support to Kurt."

"We've all been providing moral support to Kurt."

"Quinn! I didn't see you back there, and Tina!" Mercedes threw open her arms as she went up to her blonde friend for a hug. "Oh my god, it's so good to see you both. How's Yale? And Puck?"

"He's found a new mistress, San Antonio. He's fallen in love with the city." Quinn blew off an easy laugh, "And my LSAT score is." A coy smile formed on her face, "Harvard good." Followed by a grin that lit up her green eyes.

"Quinn, you're going to Harvard? Oh, my god!"

"No, Mercedes, I've applied to Harvard, Columbia, N.Y.U., U of Chicago, Stanford and Yale."

"So how long are ya here for?"

"I go back tomorrow morning, after I see Beth. I can't slack on my studies at this point."

"I'm so proud of you, girl! How about you, Tina? Still playing arm gay?"

"No, Rachel, I've been on two dates. His name is Ken, like me, a Korean adoptee. He's an engineering major. And he's spent both of our dates talking about embedded processor design." Her shoulders dropped with a sigh, "He loses me at microarchitectural thermal modeling."

Mercedes let a giggle escape from her lips, "Don't worry, there's a guy out there waiting for you."

"How about you, Mercedes, anyone new in your life?"

"Nah, I mean, I still text with Tank, and we met up when we're in L.A., but no, still not in the market for a steady man."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You band guys need to up your game if you expected to be invited to another pot luck."

Franco jutted his chin out, blowing air through his mouth that sent his bangs flying upward. "Artie told us to bring whatever. We all live in the dorm."

"Don't listen to Kitty, I appreciated the ham sandwiches. I mean, there isn't any actual food here." Sam chopped down on a baked cookie. "When I was here with Kurt and Blaine, I lived on ice cream." He picked off the crumbs that fell on his shirt, adding them to the cookie already in his mouth. "It's like you all moved to New York and forgot how to cook. They even ruined spaghetti, putting that green sauce on it."

"It's called pesto, Sam, it's made with fresh basil that's why it's green and it wasn't spaghetti, it was linguine." Kurt annoyed that Sam would bring up their petty argument over one meal he made while they were roommates.

"Yeah, well, I remember noodles with shrimp and spinach covered in green sauce. Who does that?"

Kurt's narrow lips bent into a sneer at Sam, "People who've moved on from canned spaghetti your mom served you as a kid."

"Did anyone get sushi, cos I sure didn't." Artie pushed his plate away, to lean over the table to look toward Brittany and Santana.

"San and I were thrilled that you thought about us. Next time, though, buy enough for everyone."

Mercedes let out a low chuckle as she listened to the old squabbles of her classmates and Glee's companions, "Well, I, for one thought, everything was delicious." She stood up, "Thank you, Rachel, for letting us crash the potluck. I miss this living in L.A.," she lifted her plate, setting it on Sam's empty plate "I can at least help clean up."

"Here I can help too, Mercedes. Tina?" Stacking Roderick's and Dani's plates onto her own.

Tina grabbed the plate in front of Mike, "Oh, yeah sure, Kitty." She stacked it on her's along with Artie's.

Under Kitty's direction, she assigned everyone a task for the cleanup of Rachel's dining room. She ordered the band guys to help clear the table. Gave Lennon and Blaine plastic champagne flutes to assemble for the celebration. Kurt uncorked the champagne bottles, careful not to spray the contents over the room. Told Mike to help Jesse reorganize the chairs while she assisted in the kitchen. The rest of the guests moved into the living area. Brittany took the center of the couch to read over the typed pages of Rachel's notes. Passing each page as she finished to Elliott, who'd pass it on to Dani, then to Roderick. Sam sat with Artie, talking about a new video game.

* * *

**Q and San - Interlude**

Santana grabbed her smokes from her bag. Yes, she'd have to suck on a breath mint before returning to the party. And brush her teeth twice and use mouthwash before going to bed if she expected her wife to cuddle with her, but this habit was hard to break. She took the emergency exit. Like a child called to dinner, Santana bounced down the stair, she'd have to take the elevator back up.

Santana saw the rain out the lobby door, the drab black pavement shone with oil tainted colors of the neon signs. As she exited the building, she could hear the water flowing in the gutters to gurgle into the street drains. The colorful blend of taxies intermixed with private autos speeding by with water spraying up from their tires, and wipers swishing across windshields. She watched as people rushed with umbrellas on the sidewalks or to cross the street. Santana dashed over to a secluded spot in the entryway of a closed shop to stay dry. She pulled a Marlboro Light from the pack, her lighter from her jeans pocket. The glow from the fire danced in the air. She cupped her hand around it.

"Guessed, right, that I'd find you down here."

Santana turned, "Jesus Q, you scared me." she held her hand to her chest. "You following me now?" The cigarette wobbled between her lips. She lit her cig, exhaled the smoke that drifted between her and Quinn. "Want one?" she offered her the pack.

An uneasy smile played along the edges of Quinn's lips as she grabbed the Marlboro's and the lighter, lighting it with the same skill as Santana, "Thank you." She gave both back as the smoke escaped her mouth. Quinn crossed one arm at her waist, resting the elbow of the other on her fold arm, "So, you're going all Pink to be a rock star now?" She inhaled.

"What if I am? Didn't you accuse me of not following my dreams?" she flicked ashes onto the step.

"I never thought you'd follow on Rachel's skirt tails to Broadway either. Or Mercedes dreams of being a singer."

"And what did you think?"

"You'd stick with commercials. A backup singer. A writer, maybe. Even modeling. But I never expected you to join a band and forget about your education."

Santana snorted, "Too short for modeling." She inhaled on her cigarette, holding the smoke in a second before blowing it out. "Would you want to be recognized as the Yeast-I-Stat girl for the rest of your life? Or fade into the background of a singer you can sing circles around in your sleep?"

"I hope you excluded Mercedes from that comment?"

Santana rolled her eyes upward, "Rachel too." The old friends looked at each other. The silence broke when Santana interrupted with a sputter, Quinn followed with a snort.

"Seriously, Santana, the only reason I took the LSAT test was that I know the odds of me earning a living as an actress are slim. Even with a Yale education. And unlike you, I can't make money as cage dancer."

"Sounds to me like you're giving up your dreams." She took one last drag off her cigarette, tossing it toward the street. The smoke curled around the edges of her mouth, "Q, I'm still in school. No one is knocking down our doors with a record contract. The plan is simple, earn a few bucks doing gigs at music halls, weddings, bar mitzvah's, private parties, whatever while hawking a cd of original music. I haven't dropped out yet. Brit and I have plans for our future. I'm a little more realistic than given credit here."

"I suppose you are." Tossing her butt into the street, "but I know how you are when you make the wrong decisions. Or react when you've been wrong. It's not pretty, San. And as Rachel discovered one incorrect career move and you're reviled or become the butt of endless jokes."

"Well, I'm not Rachel."

* * *

**Potluck Continued**

As they gathered in the living room, Kurt tried to get everyone's attention, while Lennon and Blaine handed out the filled flutes. Santana took her spot next to Brittany. Quinn hung back by the door, "Excuse me, I have something I want to say."

Franco stood next to Jon who sat on the floor, "Let me guess, you just realized there isn't enough seating capacity in this apartment for everyone?"

"I liked you band geeks, better when you didn't talk." Kurt raised his glass to his shoulder level. "As you know, we're here tonight to watch the premiere music videos of L.H.A. Formerly..."

"Didn't we do this? Premier the videos?"

Artie shoved his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. Looking over to Elliott, "We did, but Rachel emailed 13 pages of notes to Blaine and me, so we went back and re-edited the video's."

"Did you include the lap dance?" Franco winked at Artie.

"Sadly no, Britt isn't giving up the master video. And hard as I tried, I couldn't recover it from the scratched cd." Stretching over to grab the remote from the coffee table, "Believe me, I tried."

Kurt cleared his throat, "As I was saying, we're here tonight to watch the premiere music videos of L.H.A. It's humble beginnings as Pamela Lansbury. Changed to One Three Hill. Now revived and re-branded to L.H.A." Feeble applause followed. "This has been a collaborative effort of not only Elliott, Santana, Dani, Roderick and the band but Kitty, Brittany, Blaine, Artie, Marley, Mike, and myself." Kurt inhaled through his nose, allowing for a few seconds of dramatic pause. Sam, though, thought Kurt finished, drank the champagne in his glass. "We need to thank June Dolloway for her financial help. Blaine's brilliant idea to create both a home recording studio and label. Franco, for the label's name. Brittany et al." waving his hand to point out the band "their support. Isabelle Wright from Vogue, com. And to our friends at NYADA, B.F.A., and 5678 Dance Studio."

Jon cupped his hand around his mouth, "Get on with it!"

Blaine refilled Sam's champagne glass before passing next to his husband in a low voice. "Keep this short Kurt, we don't have enough champagne for over one serving."

"Really, come on, Kurt, you're jinxing us." Brittany concurred with Jon.

"Hey, Kurt, you forgot Nero and his car!" Kitty, her voice high and piercing to be heard, "I'm pretty sure Artie and Santana won't forget it."

"Guys, listen up! Let Kurt finish, or we'll be here all night."

"Thank you, Blaine. To wrap up. Whether this project is an over the top success. Or a futile attempt to jump-start our friend's musical careers. It's something we should all take pride in. It's not that they're extraordinarily special. It's that we, as a team, made something extraordinarily special."

"Was that a backhanded compliment, Kurt." Elliott grinned.

"You noticed that too?" Roderick pushed his glasses up his nose.

"For god sakes, just start the damn videos, Artie!" Kurt huffed. "Oh, cheers, everyone!" raising his glass in a salute, he gulped the liquid from the glass.

* * *

**Kurt and Blaine**

"Blaine! Blaine! Come on Boo, wake up," Kurt shook his husband the next morning.

"Uh," rubbing his face, "What is it, Kurt?"

Kurt shoved the laptop in front of his husband. Blaine raised from the bed to rest on an elbow as he shoved the duvet down with his hand, "What am I looking at?"

"Hits! YouTube hits, just the overnight hits, we had eight thousand! That's like I don't know… like,… incredible! And that's just for Marley's song. Can you imagine what will happen when you post Dani and Santana's songs?"

Blaine kicked his feet to move the duvet, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He took the laptop, adjusting the screen for a better angle to read the comments. "'W.O.W.! Where have these guys been hiding?' 'Love'em and who are they?' 'Best song I've found on Y.T.!' 'Draining my battery to keep this song on repeat' 'H.O.T.! H.O.T.! H.O.T.! H.O.T.!' 'O.M.G., I love this song!' 'This is professional, way better than the basement crap people post to get noticed!" Blaine read as he scrolled through the comments. He scrolled past the languages, he didn't understand. He started laughing, "I can't believe this, I mean I expected a few hundred overnight. Even with the promotional views and our other media accounts."

"Oh my god, Blaine, they're a freaking hit! Not in the Katy or Taylor million hits in an hour kinda way, but still a hit!"

He raised his palm toward his husband, "Calm down, Kurt." Clicking over to Twitter, he signed in "57 followers on twitter that's good." Then to Facebook, "76 followers, not bad" On Instagram, "101 likes and 12 comments," scanning the comments "all good!"

"Good! That's all, Blaine? Why this stupendous! It's better than we ever expected!"

"But like you said Kurt, it's only one song, we still need to upload the song to iTunes, and Spotify, SoundCloud. But it's a good start. We need to get them before a live audience, get critic reviews, post those for people to read."

"Rachel, she can post a review. She was on Broadway, her T.V. show."

"No. Rachel doesn't have the pull. We need someone in the music business. What time is it?"

"5:18, I doubt if anyone's up."

Blaine reached over for Kurt's arm, pulling him toward the bed. "What would you say if we take a page from Brittana's book and rewrite it to have dirty gentlemen kisses?"

"I would say, to my gifted husband, that's a rewrite I'd enjoy."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"The band is taking over my life. I literally woke up this morning to check the number of hits on YouTube." Artie rolled into Kurt and Blaine's loft. "12K and only one comment on the video quality itself. Nothing positive on the director. Even though I'm credited."

"Maybe that's because those watching don't understand what a director does," Blaine took Artie's coat to hang up in the entryway closet.

"Or they're morons who don't care who directs the video's," Kurt refilled Artie's travel cup with fresh coffee. "Were you able to get ahold of Franco or Cam to upload the tracks?"

"I did Franco's waiting for Blaine's text to link the URL to the channel."

"If that's the case, I'll text him to make it so," Blaine taking his phone from the counter.

Sam stepped from the bathroom, wearing jeans, his feet bare, hair wet, with a t-shirt in his hands. "Morning Artie," he walked up behind Kurt at the sink, "What's for breakfast?" Sam listened as Kurt elaborated on his crustless spinach & mushroom quiche with feta cheese along with various fresh fruits on the side, "Got any real breakfast food?" Sam pulled his shirt over his head.

Blaine looked up from his phone, pointing to the cupboard, "Honey Nut Cheerios in the cupboard, top shelf, Sam."

"Cool, thanks." Sam took the mixing bowl from Kurt, "So what's the plan today?"

"The plan is you're going with Artie to hang out with Mercedes, Mike, Tina, and Rachel today. Did you forget?"

"Yeah. Well, you know she's still seeing that Tank guy."

"I still hang out with Tina, even though we date other people. What's the difference between us and you two?"

"Yeah, but Artie, you and Tina just don't have that animal-like magnetic chemistry that Mercedes and I do." Sam poured milk into the cereal bowl. He left the open carton on the counter, he went over to sit on the couch near Artie. "No offense. I mean, you two are cute and everything but me and Mercedes, we're like a nuclear bomb when we're together. Pure fizzle material. Just BOOM, and our love explodes."

Artie thought about Sam's analogy, he rolled his eyes with a groan, "Sam, don't you mean a nuclear reactor where they control fission to create usable energy?"

"Isn't that what Brittany said last night when she was telling us about her psychic's class?"

"Finish your breakfast, Sam. Mercedes shouldn't miss a minute of that magnetic fizzle you two share."

Sam fed a spoon of cereal into his mouth. "See, I knew you got it, Artie. What Mercedes and I have." He chewed on his honey oats as he talked, mixing the cereal in his bowl. "Since we're all guys, what's this story about Santana giving Roderick a lap dance? Jon said it was an awesome, total hard-on moment for him. Do you guys have a copy?"

* * *

**Next Steps**

All members of the band and their significant others were squeezed around Kurt and Blaine's extended kitchen table. Kurt beamed with pride after Mel complimented him on the flavor and texture of his quiche masterpiece. As the host, he'd kept the conversation in check, to avoid his breakfast meal becoming a business meeting. As the evitable drew near, Kurt allowed Blaine to take over the conversation.

"Before I forget, I had a message on my voice mail from the booking agent from the Williamsburg Music Hall this morning. In three weeks, the Hall has a weekend open. I guess the scheduled band broke up because of creative differences. So, he needs to fill the spot. He liked the demos I played for him and doesn't think he could get an established band in on such short notice."

Santana looked over at Elliott. "We need to jump on that, ASAP."

Dani nodded, "I agree. But we'll need more songs and a shitload, more practice to cover two nights."

Blaine jotted down a note on the pad of paper he had next to him. "Agree, Dani, but Roderick suggested an idea to me I'd like him to tell us about, it's called RouteNote. Go ahead, Roderick."

It surprised Roderick that Blaine asked him to speak. His voice a reedy gasp as something blocked his airway, he cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, well, uh... RouteNote is a music distribution service. Instead of us uploading singles to each site, they'd route them to any of the streaming services like iTunes, Amazon, Spotify, SoundCloud, or any other international sites for us."

Santana, elected meeting secretary, stopped writing, "And the cost?"

"Well, it's not free. We'd have to meet a minimum target before we'd receive any royalties."

"Yeah, I don't see why not? You don't buy a carton of ice cream to eat it in one sitting. Good suggestion, Roderick."

Thanks, Dani. I can't take all the credit. A guy in my Tech Fundamentals class clued me in on the app."

Blaine watched as everyone nodded in agreement over Roderick's suggestion. "Santana, can you add that to the notes that all voted in favor?

"Noted gel leader."

Blaine shook his head, befuddled that Santana would start up with her nicknames. He crossed off an item on his notebook paper, then took a swig of coffee to focus back on his list. "The other item I wanted to bring up is to release the video with an E.P., not the entire album like our original plan. Wait, see how that pans out, then another video of whichever songs gets hits. We've just got the one which doing well when you consider we're only beginners."

Elliott raised his hand, "I vote yes." He elbowed Jon next to him

"Second."

Santana didn't bother with any strict adherence to Robert's Rules of Order. The surrounding faces were glazed over with boredom at the table. "All in favor?" She glanced around the table, "No objections. The motion passes. Next?"

"Wow! We're going faster than I thought, I expected to be here all day." Blaine drew a line across another item on his list.

"We came prepared, Blaine." Kitty aimed the pointless gibe at Blaine.

"I also think we need to be more serious about the band's web page. We've let it flounder for too long. It needs photos, an e-press kit, videos, bios, band history, gig dates and a link to Triad Seven Music. Brittany, Kitty, can you take care of that? Be our webmasters and social media specialists?"

"If you don't mind, I'd like to help."

"Thanks, Cam, I'd ask Artie, but he's overwhelmed right now with school. Did you get all that, Santana?"

"Britt, Kit and Cam webmaster. Got it."

Blaine crossed off another item off his list. "What we need is a newspaper review. Elliott, that means you need to call that guy at the Village Voice. An interview is free advertising. I've also been contemplating our media presence. If someone in the industry drops our name in an interview, that would be a marvelous piece of advertising too."

"Like Cedes?" Brittany awoke at the mention of a journalist interviewing the band.

"Yes, like Mercedes. But business people with juice." Blaine jotted down another idea on his notepad. "I've put in a call to June, she wields influence within traditional media she might convince one of her friends to endorse the band."

"I don't think a bunch of old geezers will turn out at the music hall to watch a band they never heard of play cover songs."

"No, you're right, Santana, but they might show up for a private show."

"Yeah, but won't they be more interested in chamber music than hearing me belt out a Queen song?"

Blaine quirked an eyebrow as he set his elbows on the table. "True, Elliott, we'd have to tailor it for the audience. But that doesn't mean we could re-arrange say a Bon Jovi song."

"OK, but we still need practice space. Most of you are in school or like me working, so we're talking evenings."

"I'm glad you brought that up, Elliott. Kurt and I talked about it. He's willing to reach out to the new director of Adam's Apples to see about using their practice room."

"Adams Apples only has four members. It seems their reputations has fallen even further into the sinkhole after they revealed that five of its members weren't students. The new director who succeeded Adam brought them in as ringers. It was quite the scandal from what I hear."

"I'm shocked!" Brittany deadpanned, Santana, snickered next to her.

"Santana, reach out to those folks you worked with when you did P.R. work for Rachel. Yes, I realize they were Broadway reporters, but they might have contacts within the music industry that could help us with reviews." Blaine sensed a protest, "Remember, it's not what you know, but who. We have to have cast a wide net if we want to trap the right people." Seeing she wouldn't argue, Blaine exhaled.

Dani moved a lock of hair behind her ear, "So, what am I doing, Blaine?"

"Work your network of friends. Also, I want you to work on the setlist for next weekend. Help the guys with the arrangements too."

"Oh, make sure you include Winehouse songs for Santana." Kurt interjected, "Santana's rendition of Amy's cover of 'Valerie' is a classic."

"I'd like to take a stab at Fleetwood Mac's 'Go Your Own Way' Rachel killed that song once, but I could do it better. And Gloria, too. Elliott and I sang that with Rachel, and we killed it. Have Dani sing Rachel's part. We could be even better."

"I think My Cup should be part of the setlist" Brittany started the chorus "My cup, my cup. Sayin', what's up? To my cup, my cup,"

Kurt stopped her, "Although My Cup is an N.D. classic. I'm not so sure the audience would catch on to the uh… playful humor. Not to mention inside joke of that song."

Kitty, Blaine, even Santana, and the band members snickered as Kurt spoke. Dani, a look of confusion on her face as she looked around at the former N.D. members, "What's the song about?

"It's not a cup you drink from," not wanting to hear more about Brittany's silly twat song, Kurt changed the focus. "And since my original idea was a Madonna cover band, don't forget her."

Blaine to get the focus back on the next steps for the band after Brittany's suggestion looked over at the drummer and bassist "Franco and Jon work with Roderick. Reach out to Marley, see what other songs she has tucked away that we could use. And if you guys have any songs you want us to hear, bring them forward."

* * *

**The Out of Towners**

Mike and Sam walked back to the table with drinks they'd bought at Jamba Juice and Starbucks. They were in Penn Station with Tina and Quinn waiting for trains back to Brown and Yale. Mercedes, Mike and Sam would take a cab to the airport to catch their flights. "Here you go, ladies, Sam has your green tea smoothie, Tina."

"Tina and I appreciate the good stuff, can't get treats like this in Lima." Sam sucked from a straw in his Razzmatazz smoothie.

Tina glanced at Sam, a genuine grin spread across her face, "I hope you never change Sam." Holding her smoothie out, Sam tipped his plastic cup with hers.

Mike removed the lid from his Starbucks cup, giving the fiery liquid a gentle blow, before sipping his coffee. "So, your thoughts about the band?"

Mercedes pulled off a bit of pretzel that Sam had bought her at Jamba Juice "My opinion they're putting the cart before the horse. They don't even have a setlist." She popped the bite in her mouth.

"Yeah, and no place to practice, they're not much more than studio musicians at this point."

Tina wrapped a napkin around her cold smoothie. "That's what I heard too, Mike."

"Guys, it's New York, they can play in the subway and call it practice."

Mercedes patted the arm of her ex, "What I love about you, Sam, your positive spin."

"Santana wouldn't enjoy that busking lifestyle. I mean, she's not that person. She likes her control."

"Ya mean, she likes to be the leader, Tina?" Mercedes took a sip of coffee. "But I agree she likes her some stage. If ya know what I mean."

"She played Anita, that's a supporting role.

"And she brought the house down, Mike. Nobody cared about Maria after hearing her sing 'America' and 'A Boy Like That.' I sat in the audience and watched it."

"You're quiet, Quinn. No opinion?"

"Oh, I have an opinion, Tina," Quinn looked at her friends around the table "I agree with Mercedes, they've got the cart before the horse. Next to Rachel, and you Mercedes Santana was the best singers in Glee."

Sam nudged her elbow, "We sang a song or two together." He smiled at the only girl he'd ever given a promise ring. "And as I recall, Mike could sing by the time he left Glee."

"Something I've given up except in the shower or car, to be fair."

"Elliott or Dani, I don't know them at all. And I was never friends with any of band guys and just about remember Roderick's name, but I know Santana. She's outgunned vocally with Dani and Elliott. In fact, both Roderick and Santana are."

"Aren't you confusing music styles with vocal range? I mean no one belts a Broadway classic better than Rachel, but that's not my style, I like R&B, Pop, Rap."

"Perhaps I am. But Santana has a direction at N.Y.U. If the band fails, she may end up floundering in the wind, like when she first came to New York to live."

"With all due respect Quinn, you're going to law school, but you're graduating with a degree in theater arts. It's not because you can't act or that you don't want too."

"I will, that's somewhat true, Tina. But that's what a college education does, not just train you for a career. It broadens your interest. Tests your beliefs and values. Shapes and influences your thinking, how you view the world, beyond a post on I.G. and Twitter. Makes you want to do something substantial with your life." Quinn rolled her eyes. "I would just hate for Santana to miss that and find herself down the road working a mundane job while going to night school. Because of her high school insecurity to be rich and famous."

"Quinn, my parents wanted me to go to med school. I would have died in that environment. I'd tell Santana, if she asked, to go for it."

"Tina, Mike, do you, in all honesty, expect to star in a Broadway play or a featured dancer at a major company?

"Being a featured dancer isn't my goal. I want to go on tour. Choreograph shows. Own a dance studio. Enjoy my life while I'm young."

"OK, I'll admit starring in a Broadway play might be out there for me, but writing isn't. And if it means I have to get a teaching certificate to survive, I will. But I want the opportunity that dares me to dream of what is possible."

"Nothing says the school of hard knock wouldn't teach you something, Quinn. Probably more than any Ivied league classroom that teaches concepts. Getting my cd recorded, released, and promoted taught me more about the business then I thought I'd know."

Quinn felt a blush on her cheeks at the affection she kept for the women who were friends, rivals, enemies and confidants during her teen years. "We spent a lot of time together, not just Glee Club but Cheerios, especially our freshman year." For a second, her emerald eyes fixated on the T.G.I. Friday's sign as she relived her last year of teenage innocence. "After high school, we drifted apart, as happens with friends." She folded her hands on the table, "They were always at their best together. It's what San has always wanted a home with Brittany. What happens if the band takes off, and it all falls apart?" she drummed her fingers on the table, "Mike, you were close with Brittany. Would you say that about her?"

Mike's forehead creased with concern. "I get what you're saying, Quinn. And no, I wasn't clueless about what they had, either." He scratched a faint itch on his nose. "Brittany's attitude is loving the one your with, and she'll love you even after a break-up. That said, it doesn't apply to Santana." His hands on the table, palms up. "Those two have genuine love." Mike glanced over at Tina, her shoulders slumped. Next to Sam, a slight bow of his head, tapping his fingers on the table. He understood Tina found his words distasteful and unwanted. She craved what Brittany and Santana shared. Perhaps Sam understood the same with Mercedes.

"Your thoughts, Sam? You're awful quiet."

The warm timbre of her voice cut across his thoughts, "What?" he tilted his head, relieved of his own heartbreak by the one he loved.

"Do you think Santana chasing fame and fortune in the band is wrong?"

"Uh," his brows lifted in surprise, "Uh, Spencer Porter."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, he wants a football scholarship to play quarterback in college. Kids good. Good arm. Reads the field. Understands the plays. Has leadership skills. He wants to play in the N.F.L. What am I supposed to tell him? Gay men can't be quarterbacks." Sam looked around at his friends, "That's like the 80s when the N.F.L. didn't have Black quarterbacks, or even before that when pro-sports were all white. I tell him to go for it. He's going to have the same chances as any high school player with the same dream. If I can support Spencer to get that dream, I will."

* * *

**Roderick **

Roderick heard the click of the tumblers as he unlocked the door to the studio apartment he shared with Kitty. The landlord carved the space out of a Victorian-era brownstone. All he remembered when they found the apartment was the assurances of Rachel, Kurt and Santana that it wasn't the hood. Their space comprised a small foyer which led into an open rectangle. A kitchen at one end, and a combined living room and bedroom at the other. In between doors for the bathroom, a clothes closet and a small storage cupboard. Their furnishings were sparse, a bunk bed, with Kitty taking the upper bed. For any unexpected visitors, a futon. On a stand, they'd mounted a flat-screen T.V. Kitty used the bookcase, found at a flea market with Kurt, for photos of her horses. Plus, a small desk and a small kitchen table with two chairs. On a wall hung a vintage Rolling Stone Tongue tour poster. Kitty protested, stating it reminded her of oral sex, which made Roderick's face go as red as the poster. Other than Roderick's guitar resting on its stand, they stacked two bean bags in a corner, and Kitty's vivid floral duvet, the room was modest even for poor college students.

Kitty started on the groceries they'd bought on the way back from breakfast, "OK Hot Rod, you haven't said a word since we left the Klaine's. Not even a protest when I grabbed the kale in produce" holding the small bag so Roderick could see it, "So what's going through that muddled mind of yours?"

"In all honesty, Kit," using his new nickname for his roommate, "I don't think I can do this." He waved his arms around, "I'm not an arranger, studio engineer, dancer. I'm the ugly fat introverted geeky nerd who stood in the back and swayed." Used his index finger to push his glasses up his nose "My entire life is trying to stay invisible. I'm not like them. Imagine me standing next to Elliott, the confident I want to fuck you, handsome guy. Not happening."

"Well, I'll ignore what you said about the gay golden boy." Exhaling as she removed a bag of spaghetti from the grocery bag. "Look, Rod, you don't to be the face of the band, trust me, Santana and Elliott will scratch each other's eyes out to claim that position." She tossed the bag of spaghetti noodles onto the top shelf. It fell back down into her hand. Roderick came up from behind his shorter roommate to put the package on the shelf. "Finn Hudson couldn't dance for the life of him. Yet somehow won a nationals title and choreograph a sectionals and regionals competition." An uncomfortable sensation coursed through her at the closeness of Roderick. Kitty stepped away from her roommate, taking the eggs from a grocery bag. "And to be honest, I doubt Dani is clinging to her guitar or standing behind the keyboards, cos she's a much better musician than Jon. She's no Santana, and she knows it. As far as looks, she's adorable, but the girl could stand an extra hour in the gym." Setting the egg container in the fridge. She grabbed two water bottles, giving one to Roderick. "And you know when they're not jamming Cam, Jon and Franco are playing video games or building new computer gadgets. They're nerds, too." She twisted off the bottle cap to take a sip. "Crazy composers sitting at a piano, creating symphonies don't happen. Commercial pop or country music is one person stepping forward with a beat, or a lyric, or a complete song. Then building a team of talented people to make the music happen. And despite your own perceived weaknesses, they're all assets. Your nerdiness. Hipster glasses. Your stupid wallet chain. Cowboy shirts. Even your clumsy dance moves have their charm. You know, not everyone will think Elliott is the only fuckable cute guy in the group."

An embarrassed grin crossed Roderick's face, "You consider me cute?"

"Let's say on a few women's arms you'd be eye candy."

* * *

**Dani **

Mel watched Dani shift the broccoli on her plate like a toddler, hoping the motion would make the undesirable green to disappear. "You're not feeling the Mahi Mahi I slaved over while you hung out with a bunch of straight boys this afternoon?"

"No. No, it's delicious, babe. Lost in thought, I guess." Dani speared the floret to shove the much-maligned green into her mouth. The sauteed vegetable tender, yet the taste overwhelmed by Mel's liberal application of salt.

Mel considered her girlfriend's body language since she'd arrived at the restaurant. Her usual cheerfulness, now strained and withdrawn. "Second thoughts on joining the Lima cult?" she glanced down at her plate, using her fork to shred slivers from the fish on her plate.

"They're not a cult." Dani's hand reached around to gather her hair, then lift it off the back of her neck, to let in drop back in place.

"OK, regrets over letting Santana slip through your fingers?" She looked down, and with her fork, Mel slid the fish to the center of the plate. "After seeing her with her idiot wife. I wouldn't blame you?"

Disapproval gleamed in her eye. Dani let out a harsh breath, "That's beneath you, Mel. I told you she was at M.I.T. when Santana and I were together." She popped the fork into her mouth. Her lips cleaned the utensil as she glided it passed.

"Still not seen that side yet. Santana," She lifted her fork up, it lingered in her hand "I wouldn't mind 20 minutes with her in a locked bathroom." She saw a sneer on her lover's face, "I'm making a joke."

"Not a funny one."

A groan accompanied the roll of Mel's eyes. "Sorry, babe. It's not like we don't tease each other about our fangirling. Grey's Anatomy? Scandal? Orange?"

"I get it," Dani taking a bite of fish from her plate.

"So, what is it?" Mel waited only to perceive a slight shrug Dani's shoulders, followed by an uttered mumble 'I don't know,' between bites of food.

Mel spoke but huffed out a breath first, perturbed at her girlfriend. "Do you not trust this, Blaine dude?" He seems like he knows what he's doing." She paused, waiting for a response when none came, "Does the band suck? Least talented, which I would argue you're the most talented of the lead singers. Fear of failure?" She watched as Dani shook her head, "Or are you scared of success? Embarrassed that your douche bag parents see you're a successful out and proud lesbian, and all the world knows it? Cos I've never known you to hide or back down to anyone on who you are."

With a clink, Dani dropped her fork on the plate, her voice laced with apprehension. Pain marred her face, "I've dreamed of this my entire life. Mel. And this group, the people it all seems so right, yet my head tells me it'll blow up. I'm waiting for something to make sure it does." She shifted back in her seat as if this made it easier to change her thoughts.

"It's OK, you're right where you need to be, Dani." She reached her arm over the table, her palm up so she could wiggle her fingers to entice Dani to take her hand. "You know what I find amazing about your Lima cult?" Dani shook her head, "They believe in themselves and each other. And they trust in you and your talent. All you need to do now is say I'm worth it."

"And what if we fail?" she scratched at her cheek to pacify her rising doubt.

"Then, it fails. History is full of people who failed. Including successful people." Mel rubbed her thumb across Dani's hand, "Sweetheart, don't let the fear of failure stop you from doing something you love."

* * *

**Elliott**

With a cocktail glass in each hand, Patrick walked over to his CD collection, where Elliott stood as he inspected each title with a musician's skill. "See anything of interest?" he offered a glass to his date.

Elliott accepted the glass from Patrick, taking a sip he scrunched his face over the dryness of the cocktail with a faint smile and nodded. "You're a musical theater nerd."

"I can't believe how fucking lucky you are to be so close to success. The next Freddie. Maybe Elton, or a George Michael." Followed with a subtle wink.

Elliott blushed, a charming bashful smile assumed at the comparisons to several idols growing up. "Nah, not yet. We're a cover band without a gig. Dreamers." He set his drink on the dining table, making sure it landed on the placemat.

"You're kidding me? Hummel and Berry are like Tibideaux's pets. Even the students remember Anderson at NYADA." Taking a sip from his glass, "You've never told me how you meet them."

Elliott, with a shrug of his shoulders, let out a soft laugh, "Uh, answered an audition in the Voice. Played a few gigs with them, and then we disbanded."

Patrick smiled, tilting his head to the side, "Why a band? You're much more talented than any of them." He took an extended sip of his martini "Go solo, instead."

"I've flirted with the idea. I won't lie." Elliott tipped his head in a nod of contemplation. "But I don't have any problems sharing the limelight, at least not with this group of friends."

Patrick craved the limelight, the attention, the applause, the success that came with it. Elliott could accomplish something he might only wish for in his career. His nonchalant attitude toward this chance frustrated him. "Elliott, the band is an opportunity for you to get recognized." Patrick shrugged, "Let them play backup to your lead."

"You believe that?" Elliott watched as Patrick nodded, "Well, that's not what I want." Patrick furrowed his brow as he listened to Elliott. "I wanted to be in a band cos it would be fun. And I auditioned for Kurt, and he turned me down," Patrick's eyes widened. "He didn't like my alter-ego. I had to change. Once I did, Kurt let me join."

Patrick's response a skeptical, 'OK.'

"When we practiced together, it was magic." Patrick noticed how Elliott's eyes lit up as he recalled his time with the original band. "Then Rachel and Santana developed a personal issue between them, so they left. Dani followed a short time later. Kurt went back to Ohio. The magic stopped. It left this large hole." Elliott reflected for a moment, the emptiness when his friends disappeared. "Worked on my bucket list, tried another group, but the chemistry wasn't right. I realized that I needed these people. We needed to come back together."

Patrick listened as he picked lint off his black shirt, "Yeah, but you lost Kurt and Rachel to Broadway. That leaves you with the two Hispanic chicks and a cowboy." The corners of his mouth curled upwards as he discredited Elliott's bandmates. "They're still backup."

Elliott nodded, seeing Patrick's actual character. His superiority and scorn were not character flaws or a haughty gay stereotype, but jealousy. Patrick was a sycophant, Kurt had warned him NYADA crawled with them, but he waved the comment off as silly. "Tell me, were you ever cast as the backup to the lead in a show? Even performed on Broadway? Booked a national commercial? Signed a recording contract? Toured as a backup singer? Professional dancer?" Patrick shook his head, 'no,' with each question. "Yeah, well, neither have I, but Santana has. She's done all those things. So don't dismiss her or her talent. Dani is as talented a singer as Santana. Some might even argue better. Roderick is an unknown, but I trust Kurt and Rachel and Santana."

Patrick cleared his throat with a withered expression on his face, "I wasn't aware that Santana had such an impressive CV. I guess I owe her an apology."

"Listen, the one thing you need to understand about me if you want to hang out, Patrick, is I'm not into drama queens, or jealousy, or choosing sides. I want what's best for the band."

"You're so different, Elliott. Most people I know would sell their souls to the devil to get the chance you have with the band. "

Elliott eyed Patrick, wondering if he were one of those who'd make a deal with the devil. "Come on, hurry, finish your drink. I want to talk to the manager at the Music Hall about the gig."

* * *

**Santana**

Santana stepped out of the bathroom, "Why are you still on your phone?" stepping over to the bed, lifting the duvet she crawled in next to Brittany. "Come on, babe, put that away. I need to get my cuddle on before I fall asleep," she yawned.

Brittany raised her right arm so Santana could rest her head down on her shoulder. "Hang on, I'm just reviewing the comments like Blaine Warbler asked me too."

"Baby, you spent all day replying to comments and texting with Kitty. Let's call an end to it," reaching over with her free hand to grab the phone away, while Brittany stretched her arm out of reach of Santana's.

"Honey, like this is exciting! All the positive comments about you and the band." A pleased smile raced across her face. "Your numbers are ticking upwards. The analytic app I downloaded are graph rainbows. And it's useful information that Blaine Warbler can use to plan strategies."

In an instant, Santana's pouting lips stretched into a beaming smile, exposing her dimples. Tickled by her wife's love of numbers, "Yeah, I'm positive it's a mental math organism for you, but all I want to do is fall asleep in your arms." She sensed Brittany would not put down the phone, "So what is the hit count?"

"200K and counting. Over 90 comments on YouTube." Moving her thumb to bring up Instagram. "A 300 likes on I.G. with 48 comments" her thumb moving again "Twitter is at 332 likes, 43 comments, 76 shares, and" her thumb bounced on the screen "83 followers." She flipped to another screen before Santana could try to take her phone from her again, "102 followers on Facebook." Setting the phone on the bedstand. "That's not bad for the first 24 hours."

Santana shifted her head on Brittany's shoulder, stroking her hair back. The belief of a dream coming true, fed into her sense of insecurity. It was only one of three wishes she'd ever dreamed. One came true, Brittany. The other two children and success were only imaginary visions of her future. Would the genie in the bottle grant her a second and then a third? "Is this what you want, Britt?"

Brittany gazed her eyes toward her bride's face. She saw Santana bite at her bottom lip, "huh?"

"We're in New York to go back to school. If this takes off, then it won't be easy to stay in school. I'm having a hard time squeezing in study time between the diner, videos and the studio. Practices and weekend gigs, that's time away from us." She peered up at Britt, "It's wonderful that Dani and Elliott have the time, but the rest of us have classes to attend. Books to read. Papers to write."

Brittany stroked Santana's arm. She picked up the doubt in her tone, a nagging disbelief that she'd kept to herself, "But this will make you rich and famous. Isn't that what your wish?"

"I do, but with my history, they'll kick me out." Her memories of disappointments obscured those of her success. "At least with an education, I can call my own shots. Not rely on someone else to watch my back."

"Honey, you don't need a college degree to make it in the music business. Look at Mercedes, Gaga, or Katy. Taylor, or Britney, or Beyonce. Whitney didn't go to college. Neither did Barbra, Adele, nor Kelly. They all either dropped out of high school or college or never went."

Santana pressed hand against her forehead, rubbing it as she considered her options, "They're superstars. I'm a married Hispanic Lesbian from Ohio. If I drop out of NYU after dropping out of Louisville, the only school that would accept me is a few lame unknown college in Podunk, Iowa."

"Well, they rank the University of Iowa in the top 25 for its Fine Arts programs. College dropout Ashton Kutcher attended. Plus, it has the Iowa Writer's Workshop. And famous mathematicians like Oswald Veblen. And space scientist James Van Allen. Course you'd have to cheer for a bird of prey instead of a shrinking violet." Santana's body rippled with delight as Brittany felt her wife's breath waft across her chest.

Santana moistened her lip with her tongue, biting down on her lower lip, "We made all these plans. Remember how proud my mom was when we told them we both got accepted into NYU? Your parents too."

"Remember what I told you?" squeezing her wife a little closer as she made circles with her index finger on Santana's arm.

"Uh, that walking away from a dream, I don't care about is still a win."

"Yes, it's still a win. You can't live someone else's dream, Honey. And you can't lose sight of your own. My mom wanted to illustrate children's books. She works as a county administrator. Dad wanted to be an astronaut, he's a garbage collector. Maribel only dreamed of college, and she's a bank teller. They all lost sight of their childhood dreams except your Dad. He followed his dream."

She slid her hand beneath Brittany's pajama top, the warmth of her skin. Toned abs beneath her touch, "Dreams are great, babe, but they don't pay the bills." Santana exhaled, "We want to start a family that takes money. IVF. Insurance. Baby stuff. We'd need a bigger place, that would mean a mortgage. We'll have student loans due."

Brittany beamed as she imagined a future with a mini Santana or two dancing around their home. "And we'll have all that, but it's still a few years away," Exhaling, "Honey, you love to sing. To dance. To act. And you're the most awesomeness person I know at that. Look what you did when you moved to New York? Book a commercial."

"So, you want me to stay with this loser band?"

"I want you to do what makes you happy. Anyway, NYU has been around for 184 years, even if you take a year off to chase your dream, it'll still be around, waiting for you."

"What about us?"

"Honey, no matter where we are, we're always together and we've been together in our past lives. And we'll be together in our future lives. And one day, when my time machine is working, I'll prove it to you." Brittany caressed Santana's body. "Santana, our love is constant. It's eternal. It's infinity."

Santana squeezed her eyes shut to hold back tears as calm words of promises mingled with her own qualms surged within. She was flawed and insecure. Yet Brittany amazed her every day with her faith in her and her displays of love. She just wanted her to be herself. Maybe they had been together in the past, as Brittany believed, yet what Santana knew for certain, what she'd always known, they belonged together. "I love you, Britt."

* * *

**Notes:**

Trademarks are implied with all the streaming & social media services mentioned. I'm sure they don't mind a little advertising.

Those paragraphs between Sam and Artie, not pertinent to the storyline, Sam and Artie are fun to write.


	6. Chapter 6 - It's All About the Show

Thank you to those reading, reviewing, and following this story.

* * *

The week after the release of their songs and video, Elliott got signed contracts with The Williamsburg Music Hall, and Kurt arranged one at Callbacks. Then confirmed two more gigs at live music clubs in the city. Four out-of-town booking agents had seen the video, called him for open dates, including one in Olympia, Washington.

On Monday, Kurt booked the old Adam's Apple practice room. With the caveat, he is present at all rehearsals to make it look like an NYADA sponsored project.

If not, the band would need to pay a security deposit and hourly rental fees. Roderick missed Monday for his night class. Gunter scheduled both Dani and Santana to work on the Tuesday dinner shift. Then Jon missed Wednesday night for his evening class. Now another delay on Thursday. Elliott's engineer friend fine-tuned their new in-ear monitors. Devices Blaine insisted they buy.

Artie showed up every night, expecting to direct the rehearsals. At first, stupid, but he got them thinking over the banter between songs. Who introduced each song? Deliberate themes for each set. Who would do the band introductions and banter rotation, or did it matter? Artie made suggestions on when Jon would have a solo on guitar or Cam on drums. Artie's mantra to the band keep it clean. Keep it polished.

Brittany and Kurt became the unofficial librarians. Tonight they sorted through sheet music organized by emotion on the floor as they tried to find songs to fill in music gaps. The set goal being three-45-minute sets with 15-minutes breaks between each and 30 seconds of banter between each piece.

Kitty bored reading her econ chapter on fluctuations in the business cycle, helped Mel with the snacks anyone missing an evening meal. While they worked, Kitty discovered more about Mel. She moved to the city to study culinary arts. Her Mom, a Vietnamese boat refugee. Her Dad, a Minnesota farmer's son. Mel joked she grew up on fusion before it became a trend. Her goal to have successful restaurants and be a featured star on the Food Network. She'd met Dani at a lesbian-owned coffee bar they both frequented, recognizing her from her One Three Hill days.

"Dani mentioned to me about the no man left behind attitude, that's sweet. So, all of you are from Ohio?"

"We went to the same high school. Brittany was two years ahead of me. Roderick transferred in my senior year. Kurt taught our Glee club. I dated Artie for a while too."

Mel bit her lip as if to chew over the question, sweeping a few stray hairs away from her face. "You didn't go to school with Santana?"

"We had a few run-ins in my sophomore year. Santana, she, uh― she called me out on a few things. Kinda one of those growing up moments."

"Like an older sister?" inquisitive to know more about the Latina.

"Santana, Brittany, me, we were all Cheerios. I suppose you could call it a sisterhood." Mel, with a blank expression on her face, "Cheerleaders." Kitty's interest in Mel's small talk fading with each question.

Mel nodded in understanding, "So you're not friends?"

Kitty let out a disgruntled sigh, "Look, it kinda sounds to me you're only interested in one band member-the one who dated your girlfriend. So, let me put your jealousy to rest. They don't stray far from each other."

"Kitty, do you have a minute," Blaine called out as he approached the table, "Want to talk over an idea with you."

"Yeah, I do," she frowned at Mel. "Whatcha need?" walking over to Blaine, who escorted her away from the table.

"Listen, I was thinking, I'm getting a little overwhelmed with keeping track of the band and all that we have going on, I need an assistant. I thought you could help."

She folded her arms across her chest, "You want a secretary, Blaine?" Disapproval crossed the petite blonde's face. "How about I text you Becky's number."

"No. That's not what I had in mind." Blaine gave her an apologetic smile, "What I need is help on is band management, at least until the band needs a full-time manager."

She fixed her attention on Blaine, "I'm listening."

Relief washed over his face. "We've delegated assignments to everyone. Which is fine, but keeping it all organized is getting to be a problem. So, my idea is that you and I divide up common areas to track. Let's say you take on promotions. Social media accounts. Plus travel arrangements for bookings. I'll stick with booking, strategy and creative aspects."

Her face puckered in annoyance. "You want me to pick up the scut work, and you get the glory jobs? Still sounds like a secretary to me."

"Kitty, wait." Blaine held out a hand, as the short blonde turned to leave, "Aren't you majoring in Performing Arts Administration?"

She exhaled. "Only to keep my parents happy, so they'd let me come to New York. It's my backup plan."

"And weren't most of your electives at McKinley on the business track?"

"Easy A's."

"Still having managed a band, might be a nice bullet for your CV."

"Listen, Blaine, I'm not even part of the band."

"No, but you're a groupie, so why not be more engaged? I mean, you're involved because of Roderick's connection."

"I hope you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting. Cause there isn't."

"No. Not in the least, but if you quit, I'm afraid Roderick will too. Kitty, you were captain of the Cheerios, a leader of New Directions. If it weren't for you helping Rachel last year, Sue would have shut down the club. Even at our wedding, you picked up to help Artie organize. And I'll cut you in on my half of the 10% the band makes."

"Ok, I'm in."

Later, as the band took down their equipment, Blaine asked all to gather around him for the announcements. "As you all may not know, I had lunch with June again today. Um… she's asked that we play at her Winter Charity she holds every year. She didn't tell me the venue, but it will be 800 of her close friends along with their significant others. Uh―,"

"Christmas carols and Big Band? Seriously, Blaine? That's not us." Dani let out a chuckle with her smile.

"Well, an old school big band piece would be an idea to add to our repertoire. But no, what June wants is more current music. It's a black-tie charity event, so she wants people to drink and dance, and, more importantly, donating."

"We don't own tuxes. We'd need to rent them." Cam spoke up. His thoughts no one would make money if all they needed to rent tuxes for the event.

Dani shook her head, "Yeah, I'm not into evening gowns."

"Me, either." The frequently quiet Lennon agreed with her bandmate.

"Have either of you ever worn an evening gown?" Santana looked over to her ex.

"No, I skipped prom. To hetero, for me."

"Yeah, my senior prom. Blew my DQ paycheck on red high tops and matching suspenders." Lennon nodded, "Didi and I won the best twin couple of the evening award at the PFLAG after party."

"San and I would have won that too, but I couldn't convince her to wear a loincloth and bra, like Raquel Welch in the movie One Million Years BC."

"Don't worry about your dress, ladies. Kurt's reaching out to Isabelle. Our understanding is she attends the event. And Kurt will help you with the details of wearing a gown." Kurt's elbow rested on his arm across his waist and rubbed his index and middle fingers across his brow in a low voice, "Lesbians in gowns, they'll be a challenge." Santana and Brittany smirked. Santana reached out to rub between Kirk's shoulders. Blaine grinned at what he thought of his new assignment, "This is a big deal. June has friends in the recording industry. High-level executives, I realize that, but the right word from any of them might help us. Remember casting a wide net?"

Elliott nodded, "Blaine's right, we need to take this gig, we can't waste any opportunity."

* * *

The Music Hall overflowed with people. Some on dates. Others looking for their future dates. Some to celebrate an important event with friends. Others out to get drunk with friends. The band opted to wear the clothing from the video, leather pants for the girls, black jeans for the guys. Dani and Santana in widow maker shirts, and the guys wearing short sleeve shirts. Elliott wore his unbuttoned with his own black widow maker shirt beneath it. Roderick, still sensitive to his body image, opted to blend in with his bandmates wearing a simple black t-shirt. Kurt hovered nearby with Brittany and Kitty at a table. Blaine and Artie, next to the house sound technician, who would help run the mixer board with the new setlist.

The house manager allotted them 90 minutes on stage. A decision which meant changing their setlist at the last minute. They skipped the break for two complete sets. Every one of the band's members expecting a total fuck up with the changes. Their previous idea of a cadence of rock n roll, followed by pop, then country and original songs became a blended mix. Elliott killed it on Bohemian Rhapsody, with Jon doing the same on the guitar solo. Santana did the same on her song, 'El Caribe.' Dani, with the song she wrote 'Between Two Loves,' and Roderick's 'Glory Days.' As duets, Dani and Roderick kicked, 'Stop Dragging my Heart Around,' in the ass. The same for Santana and Elliott on 'Smooth Criminal.' For all the bickering between Artie and the band, and missed rehearsals, the band performed like old pros.

After the last call at the Music Hall, they boarded the subway to have breakfast at the diner and continue their celebration. Elliott and Roderick staggered up the stage. They belted out 'If You've Got The Money Honey, I've Got The Time,' followed by 'It's Only Rock 'n Roll (But I Like It).' Santana and Dani opted to perform Heart's 'Crazy On You' and 'These Dreams.' All songs met with thundering applause by the only customers in the diner, LHA, and it's entourage.

Brittany showed off the photos she'd taken during their performance. Jon inquired why most of the shots were of Santana. Kitty tallied the number of CDs purchased by women. She nonchalantly mentioned Elliott and Roderick earned hotness factor points from both sexes. Elliott laughed at his numbers, joking the women on his side were in for a long wait. Franco pouted that he received only two votes, both from men.

Artie reviewed his list of revisions before the next performance. Dani came in a sixteenth of a second too late on a song. Something Dani flatly denied. Elliott's choreography sucked. Brittany informed Artie it was freestyle. Raised his voice at Roderick, 'You're a lead singer. Get used to it, man.' He irritated Santana, telling her she went flat when singing backup for one of Elliott's numbers. Cam needed to stop with his 'a stupid song' facial expressions. Artie chastised all the musicians for the time to switch between instruments. Though did have a few kind words to share. Santana killed the late addition of 'Love Will Never Do Without You.'

"Although I disagree with much of Artie's criticism, I think you were all… fabulous tonight. And I won't deny I was a little jealous not to be up there with you." Kurt, the long day catching up to him, elbow on the table, his head resting on his hand.

"Kurt, if LHA achieves amazing success or failure, you'll always be the founder of the band." Elliott held up his cup to toast his friend.

"Let's hope the former and not the latter. Being known as a failed band isn't the way I want people to remember me." He covered his mouth to hide a yawn with a faint "Excuse me."

"I'm interested in reading the reviews in the college papers. The Voice didn't send their critic tonight." Blaine, with an arch of his eyebrow, his bowtie hung loose. "I talked to a booking agent from Pittsburgh who said he's interested in booking the band."

"Pittsburgh? Isn't that like 10 hours away?" Santana, her tired body slumped against Brittany's.

"Six by car, eight by train," Dani, seeing the blank stares, "My hometown."

"Still, I mean it's Pittsburgh. We might as well play in Columbus while we're at it."

"You're wrong, Santana," Kurt used a napkin to wipe sweat from his water glass. More an act to stay awake than of neatness. "True Pittsburgh is the blue-collar 'Steel City.' It's also home to several colleges. And a thriving theater, opera and ballet community."

"Yeah, Kurt has a point, Santana. I'm not crazy about going back home, but the music scene there is hot. We should take advantage of it."

"And to add to that, the booking agent at the Hall will give us a recommendation to other agents he knows. Boston. Toronto. Philly. Baltimore and DC. Then depending on how far south we're willing to go, Raleigh Durham. Even Louisville, Santana." Blaine rubbed his face. He could feel a new 5 o'clock shadow beneath his palm.

"And if we're serious about this," Cam stopped by his reflex to yawn. Shook his head to stay awake. "Hit college towns during the school year is the way to go."

"My point school's in session. And I'm a college student. Except for Dani and Elliott, we're all college students." Brittany, hearing Santana's moodiness from fatigue, creep into her voice. She leaned over to her wife, cupping her hand around Santana's ear. Santana looked into Brittany's eyes, a language only they understood. "Ok, weekend gigs only, meaning Friday or Saturday, and we have to make enough to cover expenses."

Low rumbles of heavy breathing, then a nasal honk distracted everyone. Roderick's head laid on his chest, his body limp. His mouth open, a barely perceptible rivulet of drool crept from the corner of his mouth.

"Oh my god," Kitty elbowed Roderick

Startled, he awoke, "Yeah, uh reviews, can't have too many." He adjusted his glasses, then used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.

"Come on, stud muffin, your cowboy sheets are waiting for you."

Roderick removed his glasses to rub his eyes, "I don't have cowboy sheets." He yawned, stretching his arms above his head, "You, on the other hand, sleep on skulls and roses."

As they were leaving, Santana's senses shifted to high alert as they parted ways at the subway station. "Are you gonna be alright, Dani? Brittany and I can walk you home, or the guys can."

"Nah, you know I don't live that far. Thanks for asking. See ya later at work."

* * *

As Kurt performed his before bed moisturizing ritual, Blaine sat on their bed with his iPad, catching up on Broadway,com. Kurt peeked around from the bathroom door, "I don't get why Santana is so worried about college. I mean, she would've killed to get the opportunities and recognition the band is giving her now. I mean, she almost killed Rachel over Fanny."

"Yeah, I don't understand it either. She's done more professional work than any of us."

"I mean outside of you, Rachel, and Mercedes, she was the most talented of anyone in Glee club. Plus, she flat out stated she wanted to be rich and famous. Remember, her line about a quiz and that she'll be famous while the rest of us theater nerds starve, and the last thing she does."

"Yes, that college was a waste of time." Blaine let out a quiet snort at Santana, quoting his brother. "But she walked away from a full ride at Louisville."

"And she walked away from Fanny to spend what nine or ten months hiking around Europe. Not like she couldn't have done that later, Fanny was a once in a lifetime deal, all she had to do was to make peace with Rachel, take her offer."

Blaine, not seeing much on the web page, set his iPad on the bedstand. "I can understand her reasoning for quitting Fanny. To be honest, I envied their Bohemian tour of European capitals. The Greek Islands. Though I couldn't figure out how they afforded it."

"Oh, her parents footed the bill, what I heard from Mercedes. Her Mom deposited her paycheck into Santana's account. Her Dad covered her credit card." Kurt's hand twirled in the air, "Must be nice to be the only child of an orthopedic surgeon." Kurt joined him on the bed.

"Well, I don't know what Brittany said to Santana to change her mind. I'm just glad she did." He rolled over toward Kurt. "If Santana leaves the band, we could replace her vocally. Just the same, the chemistry between the four would be impossible to replace."

"Eight, the band has seven members. You need to add Cam, Jon, Lennon and Franco."

"Ok, eight." Blaine gazed up for a minute to ponder the band, "There is something about them on stage together, that's perfect. A charisma or star quality. And maybe I'm biased out of friendship, but they'll be a success. More so than you, me or Rachel."

"But not Mercedes?"

Blaine rolled his eyes upward to mull it over, "No, Mercedes is a class unto herself. And never tell Rachel I told her star won't shine as bright as Santana's. I want to live to make my debut on Broadway."

"As long as you don't tell either that Mercedes would shine brighter."

* * *

The next video to go up on YouTube was Dani's song, which featured Jorge's car. Viewers' comments focused on the sexy girl singers. Dani and Santana laughed off the remarks, while inside, they soaked up the compliments. The same on their other social media accounts after Brittany posted her behind the scenes photos. Their hits increased by a third from their first video. The college papers were flattering, commenting on the vocal style and chemistry of the group. After their Callback's gig, they received comparable reviews. This time the Village Voice sent their critic, who called them one of the best bands in the city.

* * *

Dani lived in a studio apartment in Lower East Side. The apartment comprised a large bedroom with an en suite and kitchen, a shoebox. She was close enough to the subway to get to work, and within walking distance for live music. The rent was low enough. She didn't need a roommate. And the apartment so small a girlfriend wouldn't get the idea to rent a U-Haul. The apartment's one downfall, a shared laundry area. One convenience she missed from her parent's home.

No, that wasn't true. Dani missed her older brother standing in the kitchen when she got home from school. He'd be in front of the fridge, door open, sorting through leftovers to find something to eat—the squeals of her sister and her friends in the basement during sleepovers. Her mother screaming at her younger brother to clean his room. The false threat to go in with a garbage can and clean it for him. Her Dad rushing around in his bowling shirt to get to winter league on time. The Grandfather, who taught her guitar. The aroma of her grandmother's homes during the holidays. Even the nagging of her older sister to 'be a girl for once.' Now, they were a memory: an evening gown, her future.

Kurt dropped off the designer gowns from the vogue,com vault at Dani's home. Mel, Brittany and Kitty joined to give their opinions. Eager to watch the fashion show and see the dresses Kurt selected.

"Why is Lennon not here?" Brittany looked around, not seeing the eighth member.

"She convinced Kurt to let her wear a tux to blend in with the band," Dani replied, somewhat irked at Lennon's crafty scheme to avoid evening wear.

Kitty's phone vibrated, "God, what now, Blaine," looking at the text, she typed a furious response. She grumbled, "He's only sent twenty-seven texts today, and it's a slow day."

"Where are the Broadway queens, anyway? Not like Kurt to miss a fashion show." Santana asked as she sorted through the dresses, hung on a rod across a doorway.

"Um, having dinner with the other queen, Rachel," Kitty not bothering to look up from her phone as she waited for his next reply.

Santana laughed, "You mean queens. Jesse's high on himself, now that he's in a show." She removed a dress off the rod, handing it to Dani beside her, "Try this one." Turning back to the dresses. "So what does Blaine want?" as she pulled a gown, holding it in front of her for Brittany's nod of approval, hanging it off to the side.

"Let's see more song suggestions for June's party. Lapel width on the guys' tuxes. Cummerbund colors. We need to discuss the out-of-town gigs―"

Dani strode back into the room in a low cut red gown. "Well?" she asked, slapping her thighs with her hands.

"Turn around," Dani twirled in front of Santana. "Now, come towards me."

"You walk like a lumberjack out in the woods." Brittany deadpanned.

"Babe, that's not helping," Santana replied. "Stand up straight, shoulders back. Don't worry about your twins, show 'em off."

Santana heard Mel clear her throat. "They're nice twins." Santana shrugged, a subtle reminder she'd seen them too. "Walk over to Britt."

"It'd help if you showed her, San."

"Yeah, that and Dani wearing the shoes for the show," Kitty said, getting up to sort through the shoe boxes on the floor. Santana grabbed her dress to try on, leaving the women to help Dani.

"You look beautiful," Mel said as she got up to help steady Dani while she put her shoes on, "And keep your hair down too."

"And keep it, your natural color. Otherwise, you're distracting from the designer's creation." Kitty giving Brittany a double-take on her comment, "I listen to Kurt, and I married a lipstick lesbian, not the Chapstick lesbian I faked married."

Kitty snickered. "Oh, I wish Sam were here right now." Kitty putting her palms up, "Don't ask. It's an insane story." Interrupted by Santana's return to the room.

"Holy shit," Mel exclaimed as she saw Santana in a gown of light gold, which shimmered with each movement. Her hair off to the side down her shoulder. Her twins just covered. Brittany adding for Mel's benefit, "They're tremendous twins."

After another hour of practice, Santana reminding Dani to stand up, look forward, keep her head up, to own the dress. Within an hour, she walked in the gown without tripping and with a more natural gait. They tried on the remaining gowns. Brittany took photos of each, texting them to the guys for their opinions. Kurt and Elliott both replying with their views. Roderick always responded with 'yeah, that looks nice.' Dani adding a test with her guitar hanging from her shoulders. The women narrowed it to Dani in a silver-colored gown and Santana in the one she tried on first. Or both in black.

The guitar, led to a lengthy discussion on Dani or Lennon on guitar, and she plays keyboards. After a long stream of text messages to Blaine, who went all spur-of-the-moment conference call with Kurt. Roderick and Lennon would play guitar with her on keyboards. Dani would wear the silver gown and go back to her natural hair color with highlights, as Brittany suggested. Santana in the gold.

* * *

**Being in the Right Place**

June's Winter Holiday party was more significant than anyone expected. It included the who's who of New York society. Men and women from the financial district. Publishing houses. Entertainment. Fashion and retail. Along with the IT industry. City, state and federal governments. The UN. Plus, descendants from some of New York's oldest families attended. June expected Blaine would accompany the band. With reluctance, she'd allowed Brittany, Kitty and Kurt to join. The catering company hired Mel, who wanted to pick up extra cash before Christmas, to help work the event.

LHA peeked through the curtains into the ballroom. Each time heightening their nervous excitement. Brittany was sure she saw the Clinton's, Bill, and Hillary. Jon swore he spotted Billy Joel. Kurt glimpsed Lin Manuel Miranda. Dani, Natasha Lyonne. Elliott muffled his shock at seeing Sean Combs. Franco pointed out the president of Brooklyn College while Cam pointed out the mayor. Off to the side, Kitty did her best to get Roderick to blow into a paper bag after a panic at seeing Alex Rodriguez with Jennifer Lopez. Frustrated by the awestruck foolishness, Santana forbade the spying. Followed by a brief rant that calmed her own nerves.

Blaine returned from the ballroom, having checked in with June. "Ok, we have five minutes, let's get into a show circle," nervous now after his walk through the crowd. He saw confused expressions on Elliott and Dani's faces. "It's a tradition before we competed. Just go with it." Kurt took one hand, Elliott the other, "I seem to recall Joe giving us a little encouragement one time from the Bible."

Brittany started, "Dear Lord, as femmes, please let us show you that being fiercely famous and phenomenally rich won't change us. And―"

Kitty squeezed the taller blonde's hand to stop, then spoke with a quiet reverence. "Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; You are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, Nor shall the flame scorch you." Kitty took a breath, "I think that's what Joe quoted from Isaiah."

Blaine cleared his throat, "Thank you, Kitty. Now, remember the crowd is here for a lovely evening. It's not a competition. We've spent countless hours practicing over the last few months, and with practice comes success."

"If I may, Blaine. If you guys have always wished to be chosen, dreamed of being something special, well tonight, let that wish go. Tonight, you are special."

"Thank you, Kurt. Everyone take a deep breath, let it go. Now go out and have fun. Hands in," Blaine extended a hand toward the center. All followed, then raised them in unison, shouting, "Amazing."

Dani grabbed Elliott, pulling him down as she stepped up on her toes. "This is a weird bunch." She whispered.

"Yeah, but I don't feel as nervous as I did earlier."

"Yeah, me too."

"Have I mentioned you're one hot lipstick lesbian tonight?"

Dani shoving him, "Get out of here."

After their third set, Dani and Elliott watched as two older gentlemen in tuxes came up to Santana, taking her off to the side. They watched as the older of the two hugged her, and the younger man pulling out a business card, jotting something on the back.

"Whatcha guys looking at?" Kitty asked as she came back from the bathroom with Brittany and Roderick.

"Who's that Santana is talking to, any clue," Dani said.

Everyone shook their heads with mumbled comments of 'no, no clue or no idea.'

"Hey Kurt, Blaine, do you know who's talking with Santana?" called the two over after they'd returned with refreshments.

Kurt turned, "Oh my god. That's… That's Sidney Greene." He shouted, covering his mouth.

"You're right, Kurt, but who's that other guy?" Blaine replied.

"Oh god, did she just do what I think she did?" It horrified Kurt as he watched his Latina friend.

"If you saw her slip the business card next to her right boob, then yes, your vision is fine." Brittany replied, "Evening gowns don't have pockets, Kurt."

"Like she couldn't keep it in her hand?"

"Don't worry about where she put the card, I'm more concerned about who gave her the card," Blaine said.

"And what he wrote on it," Elliott added.

"Uh?"

"Yeah, the good-looking guy wrote something the back. And I hope it was his phone number."

"Nah, she showed off her wedding ring to Sydney," Dani replied. "She's not into guys, trust me." Brittany frowning at her, "Uh, we had the 'men are idiots why are they running the world' conversation. Normal lesbian shit."

"You don't have to be a lesbian to know that, Dani," Kitty snorted, giving Dani a high-five.

"Guys, shh, here she comes." Kurt shushing the surrounding conversation, waiting for her to get close, raising his voice into a higher octave, "So Santana, what did Sydney want?"

She sat her glass down, raising her palm to Kurt, "It's gotta wait, I need to go to the bathroom."

"Oh, come on, Santana. Tell us," he begged with a puppy dog voice.

"Kurt, I need to pee." Taking Brittany along with her.

"Why do women go to the bathroom in pairs?" Roderick asked

"Oh, god." Kurt mumbled, he cupped his hands around his mouth his hands, shouting, "Santana, you don't have time for that." Santana raised her arm, flipping the bird at Kurt as she sped away.

Blaine patting Kurt's arm down, "Come on, guys, let's get ready for the last set." He said to the group.

* * *

After the show, Jon, Cam and Franco loaded the rental van with the instruments, declining the offer to go to Klaine's home. Instead, they departed for Cashmere's hoping to catch Olivia's last show of the night. Blaine thanked his friends as he paid them for the evening's work.

Once back at the Klaine home, the girls changed into more comfortable sweats. Kitty, Santana and Brittany each wore a Cheerio's hoodie. Santana and Kitty, in their red alumnus hoodies. Brittany in the standard gray. Mel brought over leftovers from the party, unserved canapes. Blaine uncorked a bottle of white wine.

"June is exhausting." Blaine sighed as he leaned back into the couch, snuggling next to Kurt, "I hope I have as much energy as she does when I'm her age."

"How old is she, anyway?" Santana asked as she leaned into toward her wife. Brittany wrapping her arm around her wife's shoulders. "90?"

"80 something she a little evasive with her age."

"So, Santana, are you going to tell us what's on that card you stuffed down your bra." Kurt curious to know the card.

"I don't have it, I―"

Kurt sitting up on the edge of the couch while Blaine, not expecting Kurt to move, slumped over behind, "What? What do you mean you don't have it?"

"Chill Lady Hummel, I gave it to Britt in the bathroom."

"Brittany, you've had that card, and you didn't show it to us," Kurt screamed as he watched Brittany retrieve the card from the pocket of her hoodie.

"Like you didn't ask for it," flipping the card she read, "Jeffrey Tibbett, Vice President of New Talent Sony Entertainment." Flipping the card over to read the back "demo Attn: JT, email links."

"My God, Brittany. Santana." Kurt screeched.

"Inside voice, Kurt," Blaine said as he sat upright. "Isn't that Mercedes label?"

"No, she's under contract to Columbia, which Sony owns along with RCA and Epic. And I told him we'd spoken to Columbia, but nothing had come from it, which is the truth." She sipped wine from her glass, "I also told him my contract with Columbia expired at the end of May. We created a publishing agreement. And our indie label." She brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, "Sydney put in a word for me too."

"Oh My God, Santana, I can't believe you kept this to yourself. This is a crazy, insane, unexpected early Christmas present." Kurt took the card from Brittany to read it, "Do you realize what this means?"

"Relax, Porcelain. All it means is that he wants to hear the demo. It's not a guaranteed contract. For all we know, he was drunk and will forget why he has an email from Santana Lopez in two weeks. Or he'll pass it off to one of his trolls, who'll ignore it like Mercedes contact."

"Wait, did he want anything else? Did you mention the videos?" Dani leaned in closer to hear Santana.

"He wants bios on each of us, the video links added to an email, our social media accounts, and links to our songs. He also asked if the songs were under copyright. And if we had more."

"That's all he wanted?" Elliott speaking up, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She shrugged, "The guy said if he likes what he hears and sees, he'll get back to us." The sense of air as it escapes a balloon while it flew and flutters around in space only to land wrinkled and deflated on the table permeate the room.

"Don't call us, we'll call you." Roderick nodded as he spoke.

"Maybe we need to investigate those out-of-town dates? I know the Pittsburgh guy is still interested. A woman from Boston called, left a voice mail." Kitty said.

"No." Blaine spat out, "I mean, yes, we need to consider out-of-town dates. But no, we can't off write of this, Mr. Tibbett's yet. Look, I don't think Sydney would have brought him back to meet you, Santana, if the guy just wanted to check on the twins. That's not Sydney. The guy has a straight-up reputation on Broadway. No negative gossip or hints of scandal. Not a shred in his fifty-year career." With a shrug of his shoulders, "Business is about trust. We have to trust, he's honest. If he returns your email within a few minutes, even an hour, then yeah. And it's possible that I'm reading this wrong, and he's fucking with us."

"Blaine." shocked at Blaine's use of an expletive beyond, damn it.

"Sorry, Kurt. But if he's not, then we've caught a bigger fish sooner than we expected. And we'd be fools to let it escape."


	7. Chapter 7 - Not What You Know, but Who

**Chapter 7–Not What You Know, but Who**

**Warning:** Santana has a dream sequence in this chapter. Some readers could interpret its layout as a near-death experience. About the best, I can tell the reader who doesn't want to read the dream sequence skip pass the section after retail therapy and go to the next section that starts with the separator \\\\.

* * *

Santana collected all the bios. Cam, Franco, and Jon read like they copied from one another. Franco even forgot he played bass instead of guitar. She omitted Lennon's bullet item of taking her Llama to the state fair at 12. Roderick included his middle name, Ignatius. Santana snorting, the band includes an Iggy & a Starchild. Elliott's name displayed Elliott T. 'Starchild' Gilbert Santana left it as written. Still, she grinned at E.T. 'Starchild.' Dani's bio was the briefest instruments she played, vocal range, and employer. She realized it wasn't an attempt by Dani to show humility. An old romantic emotion raced through Santana. Her talented ex-girlfriend could reveal much more than these minor accomplishments she placed on paper. Dani's qualifications were as impressive as any of the band members. Instead, what she wrote Santana viewed it as an attempt to suppress. They shared a common evasiveness to protect their hearts before moving to the city. Dani's family didn't exist, and Santana never talked of Brittany. Santana patted her fingers next to her Apple's touchpad as she considered her options. Dani's exclusion of Angela Lansbury and One Three Hill were an oversight, without concern she copied and pasted from Elliott's bio to add it to Dani's. It wasn't enough, but it gave her a professional boost to her band cohorts.

Brittany wrote Santana's bio, listing all of Schue's or Shelby's assignment she completed. Every Sectionals, Regionals, and Nationals championship performance in Cheerios, Glee, and the Troubletones. Both musicals, she took part while at McKinley. Every dance routine Santana helped to choreograph. All the McKinley and Cardinals football games she cheered at, both at home and away. Santana's professional work since moving to the city and the Glee alums potluck karaoke nights. Brittany remembered to include the introductory conflict Santana experienced with LT, accompanied by the outcome. Santana gave into Brittany's beloved obese feline.

To escape the inevitable squabbling, she recognized would ensue if Kurt or Blaine or even worse, Rachel proofread her edits, Santana asked Quinn to help. Quinn turned her changes around in a day, adding to Jon and Franco's stint in New Directions during the Troubletones phase. She condensed Santana's 67-page bio down to two paragraphs. She even rephrased the LT incident to 'experienced with conflict/resolution techniques.' Santana laughed. Yeah, Quinn will make a brilliant lawyer, if that's the path she follows.

Santana wanted to delete the racier reviews left by fans on YouTube. Yes, she was hot. And the observations flattered her ego, now feared if they sent the wrong message to a bunch of suits. The sex tape she could handle. All she'd have to do is play the video to the suits to see, '2 Girls, 1 Cat,' was a complete misnomer. Her mental combat became moot when she accepted it was the suits who frequented Cashmeres, paid for high-end sex workers, and financed the porn industry via investments.

After analyzing the email to Mr. Tibbett's for the umpteenth time, Santana hit send. She was about to close out her email window when a new email from Samuel D. Evans at McKinley High School. Trouty often sent her emails of his latest impression, his usual modus operandi was to send them to both her and Britt with the subject line of 'Catch Trouty.' This time he left the subject line blank. Curious, she opened the email.

Hi Santana,

Blaine said you were looking for songs. I've written a song, well actually wrote it after Finn died. Its about broship. Hoped it might be a good song for Roderick or Kurt's friend Eliot to sing. No problem if you don't like it. I mean, the chord pattern is probably too simple, and so are the words. But saw it worth a shot as the feeling is real. Like really, really real. Anyway, like I said, no problems if you don't like it or even want to record it. I'd send it to Mercedes, but like I said, a bro should sing it.

Good luck and all.

Love, Trouty

Santana read through the lyrics. It spoke of chicks and beer. No surprise, she thought. Of friends teaching each other. How to respect differences and abilities. Not to leave a man behind. How they survived the loss when one went missing. Santana clicked on the forward button where she entered Jon, Cam, and Franco's names in the To line, including Sam's name on the cc line.

Guys,

Can you collaborate with Sam on his song? The words are perfect. He needs help with the melody. Perhaps the three of you can meet up during Christmas break to work on it with Sam.

Santana

Santana used her palms to rub the tears from her cheeks. The song wasn't just about Finn. It included Puck, Artie, Kurt, Mike, and Blaine. Yes, one of two men who never met Finn, would record the song the lyrics would resonant with any man whose friend he called bro.

* * *

LHA received a prompt reply from Mr. Tibbett. In his email, he repeated how much he enjoyed the groups' music. What a pleasure it was to meet Santana. He forwarded everything to a Glinda Sibylla for evaluation. He concluded by stating he expected to meet all the band members early next year.

Until their holiday break, the band discussed every verb, noun, adjective, and conjunction within the email. Tearing down each complete and partial sentence. Analyzed every comma and its placement. Reread every paragraph to decipher clues. Only to realize no news is good news, if for no other reason than to protect their collective sanity over the holiday recess.

Even in Lima, Santana couldn't escape the future. The entire band plus the Klaine's were texting her for any news. Even the St. Berry's, Chang-Changs, Sam, and Artie, besieged her with questions. The dilemma, Santana didn't have answers. At the Hummel-Hudson Christmas celebration, Rachel presented her with a two-page list of opportunities to get Mr. Tibbett's response. She trashed the list in the bathroom, using it to dispose of a used tampon. Brittany showed her apprehension through her superstitious beliefs. Chickens were safe, but to ward off any evil spirits, she wanted Santana to wear heavier eyeliner and smoky eye shadow along with cloves of garlic roped around her neck. The garlic discarded when Santana wore it to bed. Mercedes spent Christmas with her parents in LA, wished them good luck, as did Quinn and Puck, who were in San Antonio.

What she thought would send her nervousness into a full-formed nightmare turned out to be the least upsetting and the most relaxing five days spent in Lima with her family. Santana attended midnight mass for the first time since 2011. Santana sat between Brittany and Abuela, Maribel, next to Brittany. In the sanctuary, as she knelt in front of the crucifix, the potent scent of incense floating through the air, she discovered a wave of inner peace.

At the Pierce home on Christmas day, Pierce kept a smile on Santana's face, teasing her of ultimate stardom. She helped Ashley download the band's songs on the new iPhone. She discussed Lima gossip with her mother-in-law while helping her peel yams and carrots. Santana giggled as she watched Brittany hold Lord Tubbington while opening his present from Santa. She stretched out a shirt with a heart with the phrase 'I Love NYU.' Yes, Tubbs was following them to Brooklyn.

The Pierces not positive what the brides needed in New York phoned Quinn's mother. Judy gave them Quinn's number, who put them in touch with Rachel. Rachel suggested tickets to either 'Hamilton,' or 'Beautiful: The Carole King Musical,' they purchased both. Santana screaming in shock, "How in the hell did you score 'Hamilton' tickets? It's been a sell-out since opening night," Whitney, in her calm disorganized manner, replied, "Rachel suggested I call a fellow by the name of Sidney something. Oh, I can't recall his last name." she nudged her spouse. "What was it, Pierce? Blue or yellow, maybe? He seemed very nice on the phone. Anyway, Rachel said he has connections with inboxes or something. Gosh, I don't remember, sweetie. Did we do something wrong?"

She and Brittany exchanged their gifts in private. Brittany bought her a necklace. The pendant was a heart with both a treble and bass clef woven within it. Santana gave Brittany a light grey NYU hoodie with Courant scrawled across the front. Courant Institute of Mathematical Sciences, where Brittany devoted most of her time on campus. Santana's parents gave them cash. Her Dad calling it doctor prescribed retail therapy.

* * *

Santana wandered down a narrow-cobbled city street, the stucco houses on each side colored in faded yellows, pinks, blues, and greens. Above her, laundry stretched to dry by the apartment dwellers swayed in the gentle breeze. Her steps hesitant as she stepped toward the sunshine. Echoes of a syncopated rhythm carried her closer. The melody played with a guitar, trumpet, and conga. A merengue band, she wondered. As she drifted closer to the bright light, she could pick up Spanish lyrics sang in a spirited, joyous fashion by a tenor.

_Llego la booooomba ha ahyyyyy Rosario!_

_Esa muchacha si que baila bueno (que bueno)_

_Esa muchacha si que baila bueno (muy bueno)_

_Esa muchacha si que baila bueno (ha)_

_Esa muchacha si que baila bueno_

The music resounded off the surrounding building as she came into the warmth of a sun-drenched plaza, the sky blue above her head. She darted back over her shoulder at the lane, no more an alley, no a tunnel. The tall apartment building and laundry cut off the sun's rays. When she turned back toward the plaza, she found three men alone. One man done up in the olive drab of the US Army Service Uniform played the guitar. Another sported a gray suit jacket over a pink shirt, a tie of gray and pink around his collar. He pounded out the rhythm on a small drum he gripped between his knees. And the third, clad in a black suit over a white shirt with a striped blue tie, the knot loosened. His mouth puckered against a trumpet's mouthpiece as the fingers of his right hand flew over the keys. The guitarist and drummer singing.

_Yo yo yo me la voy a llevar (pa' donde?)_

_me la voy a llevar (pa' donde?)_

_pa la discoteca (pa' donde?)_

_Para (pa' donde?)_

_vamos pa Santiago (pa' donde?)_

_pa' la capital (pa' donde?)_

_me llevo a esa hembra (pa' donde?)_

_y vamos a gozar (pa' donde?)_

The man seeing her stilled the guitar strings with one hand, bracing the instrument against his body. He waved a hand to his friends to stop the music. "Rosario, you've found us," he said with a Spanish accent.

The man holding the trumpet gave a gentle slap to the shoulder of the guitarist, "Her name is Santana, named after St Anne, not your Tia Rosario, Hector."

"And a poor decision on my daughter's part, Raul." The man chuckled. "Though Diabla as a middle name is how they say―awesome. I thank God," his hand made the sign of the cross. "I didn't have to listen to my beloved Alma curse at Maribel and Eddie for that choice."

A hearty laugh came from the drummer. "Oh, she gave Eddie hell for that. I believed she'd melt the phone. She was breathing fire." He gave his shoulders a shrug. "Course, she forgot all that at the hospital when she held her first granddaughter."

Hector nodded. "I wish I'd been there, Pedro, not just in spirit."

"I recognized the minute I saw the first picture of her wrapped in a pink blanket, with more hair than I'd ever seen on a newborn. She'd grow into a beautiful woman," Raul sadness that he wasn't closer to his son, to be with his granddaughter as she grew up replied. "And now here she is. All a woman and more beautiful than I imagined."

"She got my mami's smile and the dimples too."

"My Maria's warm brown eyes."

Pedro grinned at his friends. "See what you will, boys. She's all Alma with her attitude. She called the delivery room nurse fat." The three men laughed. "At least what Eddie told me. Can you imagine being in the delivery room to see your first child born?"

"Not me, I'd be on the floor." Raul joked with a grin, "Why my son is the doctor." Raul looked over to the guitarist. "How about you, Hector?"

Hector shook his head, his tone somber. "No. Too much blood in the war." An awkward nod between the two men, as though they'd crossed a line with Hector.

"Uh, excuse me." Santana shouted, crossing her arms, "Where am I? And who are you?"

"You're dreaming of Ponce. And we're your Abuelos, Santana. That's Hector, who you never met. You remember Raul? And I'm Pedro."

Santana's thoughts scrambled as she tried to follow the scene played out before her. She looked away, feeling a tingling in her chest. Pedro resembled the grandfather she knew. His voice, the set of his jaw, his smile. Raul, she remembered smelling like cigar smoke, his teeth yellow when he smiled, his rough hands from working on the boats. Hector's uniform from a picture her mother hung on the wall. "All my Abuelo's are dead, they were old men."

"When you die, you go back to the age at which you were your best, Santana," Hector said. "I'm sixteen. Pedro twenty-seven and Raul is twenty."

"Look uh―I've never been to Ponce."

"A fault of your parents. Too busy with Miami and their sound machine." Hector gruffed, annoyed with his one grandchild, knew little of his family's roots in Ponce, Puerto Rico.

"Don't worry, Santana, this is my first visit to Ponce. I suggested Santo Domingo, and Raul wanted Little Havana. We let the soldier have his way. It doesn't matter. You're here."

The tingle in her chest now throbbing, the men believed they knew her, "And why am I here?" she asked thanking her acting skills to control her voice so it didn't go to high or sound like a husky growl.

"Aside from seeing you again, we want to talk to you," Pedro answered.

"About your future and this band," Raul added.

"We feel your hesitation. And we notice things too."

"Hector, you're walking a thin line there, amigo." He issued a word of caution to the soldier.

"Si, I'll be careful, Pedro. Santana, please sit," Hector said, affection in his voice as he offered his granddaughter the seat next to him. "This band is good for you, no?" Santana nodded as she inhaled a whiff of aftershave citrus and woody spices. "You like to sing and dance, yes?" another nod. "You like the members?" Santana still nodding. "Good, this band needs you."

A frown creased her forehead, "I'm not following?"

"This group will bring you many great things," Raul replied, "And as in life, some sadness."

Pedro waved off Raul's comment, "Ignore him, life is full of small moments of sadness, it's the joy and compassion you show to others that people remember in your life."

With a look of sincerity, Raul said, "And why you must stay in the band."

Feeling flattered, a mocking brief smile playing about on her lips, she replied, "Yeah, joy and compassion aren't exactly my long suits."

"Ah, but they will be." Hector hinting at an enlightened understanding of her future. For a minute, Santana pondered over his words. Should she make light of his message? Or ask for details? Before she mustered a sentence together, he continued, "You're confused? Music is joy. You realize this from your school club. In your heart, the lyrics speak to you, like 'Songbird,' yes?" Hector placed his hand over his heart. Santana, uncomfortable that he perceived what meaning that song held for her, squirmed in her seat. "Music, song tell our stories. They empower people and comfort them."

"Your life, too, will transform people." came Raul's soothing voice, "You will encourage many to shed their cloak of suppression, to be bold and brave. For others, you will foster understanding, acceptance, and gain great praise in living your life without judgment or fear."

"They put us all on this earth for a reason, Santana. For most, it is to absorb a lesson. For you, mi cielo, it's teaching that lesson."

"Honey, wake up." Santana distinguished Brittany's voice, "You're having a bad dream" as she felt her wife shake her awake. She squinted the sleep from her eyes as she adapted to the blackness of their bedroom. The lucid dream, the three men, they lingered with her as though the simple act of shutting her eyes would bring them back again. The worry of them showing up again sent a shudder through her body. Yet she didn't feel scared, she felt peace within her heart. Her ancestors came to her with a message. An instruction to teach to others. She needed to stay in the band. Keep them together. Santana curled over, accepting Brittney's offer to snuggling up to rest her head on her wife's shoulder. Brittany's fingers drawing circles on her arm. She burrowed her face closer to Brittany's warm body, "Hold me, Babe, til I fall back to sleep." She purred. Santana closed her eyes, the stroking caresses of Brittany's touch soothing her to sleep, as she thought of Pedro's childhood nickname for her, mi cielo. My heaven.

\\\

Santana stopped at the receptionist's counter, waiting for Marge to wrap up with a caller. On the wall next to the counter hung her dad's medical degree. Ohio State University, School of Medicine, Eduardo Luis Rafael Lopez, she could read with ease from where she stood. The first doctor in his family. The reason she spent much of her early childhood years with Abuela. Her early memories of her Papi were of him with a book in front of him, saying to her in Spanish, 'not now, Papi is studying.' When all she needed was to sit on his lap. Held in his sturdy arms. Calmed by his warmth. Instead, he pushed her aside. Through medical school, residency, his surgical specialty, orthopedics, telling her she was too much of a tomboy. Then he moved out of their home from what she would afterward understand to be an affair with a resident. She relived the coolness between her parents that year. Her Abuela and mother quarreling over a choice. She wouldn't understand until later that her mother's decision was to forgive him or divorce him. She forgave him. He came home, and they moved to Cleveland, where Santana started school. It wasn't until he accepted a position in Lima, that he said 'come here, Santana.' By then, it was almost too late. He surprised her, accepted her, hugged her, and took pride in her achievements.

Drawn from her musing as Marge set down the phone's handset onto the base, "Santana, haven't seen you since your wedding. How's married life?" The phone rang, Marge gestured to the door. The receptionist snatched the handset. She put the caller on hold. "Your Dad's with a patient now, but if you want to go back to the office, he should be there shortly." Santana mumbled, 'Thank you.' Opening the door, she chatted with Peg, who dealt with the referrals for her father's practice. She overheard Marge in the background. 'That's his daughter. Please take a seat, Dr. Lopez will see your mother soon.' Peg shook her head, 'America's Greatest Generation are too senile to stay inside after an ice storm. The Silent Generation is too confident to stay off the ice. And my boomer generation is asking what ice? Ah, well, all job security to me.' Santana nodded. 'Yeah, sure, Peg.' Showing her a grin along with a brief wave, she went on back to her father's office.

Dr. Lopez's office was in the building's rear. Santana took the short walk passed examination rooms on each side as the smell of medicinal disinfectant permeated the air. A smell that always reminded her of her Papi. The building included rooms with an MRI along with standard x-ray machines provided the physicians with the capability to expedite diagnoses. Upstairs were physical therapists, small labs, and suites for ambulatory surgery that kept Santana and her father from sharing breakfast together when she lived at home. In the basement were rows upon rows of files kept from past patients, along with a raised floor area for the computer room, and a handful of IT employees kept the entire process functioning. Along with designated spaces for accounting staff. Her father's practice appeared more like a miniature-hospital than just a physician's office.

When her father joined the Lima Orthopedic Group, he replaced one of the group's original founding physicians. And he opted to keep the doctor's furnishings. Kurt would claim the décor shabby chic or any sensible person would recognize them from a sixty's sitcom. A large wooden desk with a cardinal high back leather chair that sagged in the middle. An uncomfortable mid-century box sofa. Two leather armchairs in front of the desk. Her dad re-upholstered both after the staff griped about a 'spring up the butt.' And the credenza that had known better days with family photographs. Her graduation picture, confirmation picture, a family gathering when both sets of her grandparents were in Columbus for his graduation from medical school. School pictures of her at various ages. And the latest that sat front and center her and Brittany in their wedding reception outfits, with their parents wearing their OTP caps. Of all the pictures, he could have chosen the OTP picture would have been her last guess. It was more Pierce Pierce style then Dr. Lopez style.

"Mija," she heard her dad as he opened the door, "Apologizes for the delay, busy day." He stated as he strode around his desk, tossing a patent's file down on the desk blotter. "Sit down." As he plopped down in his high-back chair, rubbing his face as if trying to wake up from his early morning page out for an older man with a broken hip. "I wanted to have a chat with you alone, something we don't get to do much," He beamed at her.

Santana sat down in an armchair, crossed her legs, as she bit on her lower lip, dragging out the movement, "Why you summoned me? A chat?" she felt a knot build in her gut.

"Don't be so suspicious, mija. You're too old for me to lay the law down on you anymore."

The knot dwindled to a flutter in her belly, "Not that you ever could." She tipped her head to the side with a tentative laugh.

Her dad chuckled, "You got me, you're too much like Alma to listen to anyone." He shoved the file off the blotter to the side, "Tell me about your band, this group you're in."

Her smile wavered, as she flipped her hair off her shoulder, "It's just a cover band, we play at clubs around the city. It's not interfering with my classes if that's what you're worried about."

Nodding, as he tuned in to his daughter's explanation, "Burt Hummel came in last week. His knee is hurting him again. He told me about your band. Mentioned you'd done videos. Recorded songs, put them on the internet. Approached by a record company. I just nodded, not having a clue what he was describing."

"Papi, it's all just a pipe dream. You realize how Burt is with Kurt, the sky's the limit for his son."

Dr. Lopez leaned his arms on the blotter, "And why can't my child pursue her dream? Why can't I say the sky's the limit for my child?"

Santana stumbled for words to explain, "It's a fickle business, Papi. More bands fail than succeed. I'm married with obligations. Britt's and I want a family. I don't have to tell you how we'll manage that."

"You know, Santana, when I told my parents I wanted to be a doctor, you know what they did? They laughed at me. No one in my family had ever been to college. I was a poor Latino boy." he leaned back in his chair, "The one thing that came close to stopping me was you." pointing his index finger at her. "When I told your mother that I was going to quit medical school, become a high school science teacher."

A silent laugh escaped from Dr. Lopez's lips. The memory of his soon to be wife's fury. A rage that rivaled his future mother-in-law. "It was a new side to her. So passionate that I not quit on my dream." He let it sink in, "Now I will admit from your side, it was," he wavered, realizing what he would say next might sound cruel "a shitty childhood. We concentrated on my dream and ignored your needs. And I'm sorry we did that, but we did, so I could reach my dream." He glanced away, as he rubbed his nose, to allow the remorse for all the wrongs Santana experienced to emerge. He exhaled, "The only way for me and your mother can make up for lost opportunity is to support your goal. If you want to leave school, your mother and I will support you."

He studied his daughter for the first time, his extremely sharp, accomplished, wonderful child, afraid to run after what she craved. Who right now needed encouragement, not from a skilled physician, but a loving parent, "Santana, mija, I'd rather you try now instead of growing old saying I wish had." A tap on the door interrupted him. Peg poking her head in "Forgive me Doc, but the hospital is on line three, your patient from this morning, they need to talk with you."

* * *

Lin sat in her office chair, a lowball glass in her hand, twirling the amber liquid around as she observed Mitch walk back and forth in front of her. His eyes closed, responding to the melody radiating from the speakers. He'd stop. His hand would flow like an orchestra conductor accompanying the tempo or lifting it as the vocalist carried a note or executed a run.

"Well, Mitch?" she demanded, taking a sip from her glass.

He opened his eyes, "Where did you find them?"

"Jeff caught them at Dolloway's bash. He sent over the files to me."

"That would be rich. Jeff's virtually tone-deaf. And what's Dolloway doing promoting a band? Not like that old bat."

"I take that as you're interested?"

"They're a gang, Lin. That means four egos to massage."

"Eight."

"That's even worse, eight egos to rub. You'd be better to choose any of the vocalists, put them in front of a studio ensemble as a solo artist, and send them on the road with a DJ."

"Ego's aside, is the band worth the investment?"

Mitch chuckled with a smirk, "Lin if you're seeking advice from me, you've already decided. You're hunting for a producer."

"And?"

"What kind of name is LHA?"

"How about loyal honesty appreciated?" Lin responded, finishing the liquid in the glass, setting it on her desk, "You're hedging, Mitch."

Mitch exhaled, "100K per song, 4% of the royalties, and 2% from publishing rights for songs I produce."

"You have confidence. Ten songs?"

He spun to leave. He peered back. "You realize they already have two probable top 40 songs within those tracks. Likely three."

"Why I knew you wouldn't say no."

* * *

**A Brand New Year**

As December concluded, they all crawled back to the city they called home. Some needed to come back to temporary careers, others to attend J-Term classes. On New Year's Eve, they assembled at their favorite spot, the Diner. Both Kurt and Dani disappointed, Gunther scheduled both to serve the evening clientele. Mel already at her trade, prepping for the predicted partygoers at her employers. Kurt stood next to Blaine, expecting a group of diners to leave so he could clean the dinner table. Dani stood opposite him next to Elliott, with her pad and pen, calculating each bill for the table.

"Since I'm working every day until NYADA classes start up again at the end of the month, what's everybody taking for J-Term?" Kurt inquired, grinning, "Except for Blaine, that is. Blaine is taking Cinema and Urbanism. He and Artie have already been discussing it."

"Production Safety and Set Protocol. All theater majors have to take it. Thought I'd get it out of the way early." Kitty groaned, having found out from another student that the professor could lull a hyperactive child to sleep.

"Since Shue was clueless, Caribbean Cultures," Santana replied, nudging Brittany.

Brittany fixated on her iPad, not bothering to look up, "Oh, yeah, uh, History of The Universe,"

"Will it teach you the difference between an asteroid, comet, and meteor?" Kitty jested, Brittany responded by flipping her the bird, Kitty feigning offense. "Santana, you've been an evil influence on your spouse."

Santana snorted, "That wasn't me, MIT did that to her. How about you, Roderick, what are you picking up?"

"Uh, Studio Recording for the Modern Producer slash Engineer. Had to get approval from the professor. But when I described what we'd been up to, it turns out he was at Callbacks the night we played. He's impressed."

"No word, yet Santana from Epic?" Blaine asked as Santana shook her head. Stirring the ice around with his straw, dissatisfied at the lack of movement with the record label, "So what plans do you guys have for New Year's Eve? Attend the ball drop-in Times Square? Check out clubs? Go to Rachel's NYADA party?" he asked those around the booth.

"First, I'm not an NYADA student, and the second two wine coolers do not make for a great party," Santana retorted, with a mischievous smirk.

"I'm not much into the Times Square party. Too small, can't see, and being short in a crowd, I'll guarantee you I'll get a lukewarm beer poured down my back by someone less drunk than me," Kitty responded.

Elliott elbow on the table to lean his chin on his palm, "I'm invited to a party at a co-worker's place. Should be interesting drunk straight people with one thing in common, work,".

"We're going to the off-campus campus party, it's free, the band's not too awful, the beer is dirt cheap, and it's an easy drunk slog home," Cam nodded.

Roderick, patting his fingers on the table, "Thought I'd check out the Superman marathon at the Old Holland Theater."

Franco elbowed Roderick next to him, "Dude, come with us, bring your student ID. Find a chick."

"Get laid," Jon added through a giggle. Roderick's face transformed into a light shade of red. Dani chuckled at his dilemma. While Kitty stared at Jon.

"Have you made out with a girl yet, Rod?" Cam inquired, "Made it to first base?"

"Boys quit harassing him." Santana reprimanded the men.

"Emma Pillsbury didn't do the dirty until she was what 34?" Jon laughed.

"It's an awesome new year's resolution you won't forget." Cam went on the tease.

"Yeah, and you don't have to learn their names either." Franco sputtered as he roared, "Not even what they looked like."

"Nah, screamers, you remember. Ahhhhh Ahhhh." Jon imitated, "they blow your eardrum out."

Franco's lack of a filter made Santana snap, "Seriously, guys. Imma about to go all Lima Heights Adjacent on your miserable asses if you don't stop, and when I do, none of you will have nuts to get laid."

"Come on, Santana, they're just joking around,"

"Elliott, inform me, what's the difference between teasing, joking around, and being a bully? Words hurt just as much."

Brittany lay her palm on Santana's thigh, "Honey, what was the name of that woman at Epic?"

"Uh, Glinda Sibylla. Why?" Santana took the iPad from Brittany's hand, scouring the screen "It's her. Epic replied." Santana screamed, "Oh my god." Uneasy anxiety coursed within her as she felt those around her stare over at her. "She wants to meet us. All of us. Monday at 2:00 her office on 25th and Madison."

"They can't be too far from the National Museum of Mathematics," Brittany scrunched her face up "10 minutes from NYU's main campus. 30 from Brooklyn."

"Never mind that, Brittany, did she say what she wanted to discuss?" Blaine said than uttering, "Sorry." At Brittany for showing disrespect at her observation.

Santana shook her head, "No, she doesn't. Nothing beyond vision, demographics, wanting to meet us in person." She handed the tablet to Blaine, who already had his palm stretched, waiting for the tablet. Suddenly dragged into a hug by Brittany, who murmured 'Rich and Famous' in her ear.

Kurt, giddy with emotion as the message sunk in, clapped, "You know what this means ?" Vacant stares, gazed at him, except Santana, recognizing what Kurt was leading toward, "It means 'Don't Stop Believin' we have a band, a stage, and a captive audience." He grinned, squirming as though he had to pee.

"No. No. Let's savor the moment. Like reasonable people," Santana, brandishing a free hand, countered.

"Oh Santana, don't be a spoilsport, let's enjoy the moment the way Mr. Shue taught us, through song."

Dani shrugged, "Part of my job."

Jon, Cam, Lennon, and Franco nodded in unison, getting up from the table, Dani following. While Kurt rattled off solos, "Santana can sing Rachel's part, I'll sing Finn's, uh, Dani can sing Tina's part, Blaine will sing his own. Roderick, let's see uh, Mr. Shue's section, lucky you, you and Blaine will sing together. Who've I forgot?" Kurt whispering the lyrics to himself, "Oh, Elliott can sing Artie's."

"Where's my solo, Kurt?" Kitty asked with a shade of chagrin in her tone.

"What's Mr. Shue's lines?" Roderick called out as he got up from the table.

"Or Artie's?"

Brittany rose, presenting her palm to her bride. A bashful smile cut across her face, "It's a tradition."

Blaine slid the iPad into his messenger bag for safety, "Come on, Santana, you can elbow my head again." He gave a broad grin to the Latina.

Santana shook her head with a groan, "No. No. No." as she stood, Brittany and Blaine, shared a smirk between them as they stepped with Santana to the stage.

Enthusiastic applause followed their performance. The group later went to Times Square, then to a club, dancing, and drinking until it closed. As the sunlight ascended on the first day of a brand-new year, they expressed their Happy Year wishes to each other at the subway station to stagger back home.

* * *

The eight members of LHA, with Blaine and Kitty, assembled in a comfortable conference room on the upper floor of the skyscraper. One wall of the room, the name EPIC in standout stylistic red cursive block letters. Another wall had portraits of current artists. Another wall with a whiteboard. The back wall a credenza where bottles of water and fresh fruit were available. At the oval table were cables at various points that crept out from underneath like small arms of an octopus searching for prey. Blaine sat in a comfortable upholstered armchair in his suit and bowtie, fidgeting with a file he brought. Santana wore one of her trademark short dresses, sat next to him, checking her new manicure. Across from them, Roderick, in an unbuttoned cowboy shirt over a white tee, chatted with Kitty next to him. Kitty wore dress slacks, a low-cut blouse with a jacket over it. Dani and Elliott, next to them in black denim jeans, Elliott in a collared shirt, Dani in a sweater both with their sleeves shoved up to their elbows. Dani running her fingers through her black hair, while Elliott told her the achievements of the acts signed to Epic. Lennon next to them in an OSU hoodie, now both sides of her head shaved, tapping her thumbs furiously on her cell. Jon and Franco, in jeans with shirts and ties, sat on the same side as Blaine and Santana, both played with the chair's lumbar adjustments. Cam, in a lime green t-shirt with a clashing striped tie draped around his neck, sat next to Franco, tapping a beat with his fingers. After what seemed an insufferable wait, an average height, rather overweight woman in a styled taupe dress suit, with reading glasses slid up over her brown hair came in the room. Behind her, a younger taller woman in a well-tailored conservative black pinstriped suit followed. The first woman choosing her seat at the head of the table, the other one sat at the opposite end.

"Sorry for the delay," the older woman spoke as she laid paperwork and phone down on the table, "I'm Glinda, Lin to my friends and this is Deedee with legal." Lin peered around the table at their faces. They were so young and innocent compared to the videos she'd checked out. "So, this is LHA? I assumed there were eight members, not ten?"

Blaine, in a shaky voice, lifted his hand, dropping it when he felt foolish for doing it. "Uh, I'm Blaine Anderson, Kitty Wilde, and I have been supporting the group, LHA, with management duties," he said. Kitty waved to Lin, cramming her hand back in her lap, embarrassed. "That is limited administration duties."

Lin acknowledged, "Ok, I see. You're serious about LHA, I appreciate that." Flipping open the folder, "So can someone explain to me what the acronym LHA means? I suspect it doesn't mean Landing Half-Assed." Making those around her chuckle.

"Uh, no, it's a lower-income neighborhood in Lima, Ohio. That abuts a historical, more affluent neighborhood. It means Lima Heights Adjacent." Blaine replied.

"Clear enough. I suppose you'd like to know why I requested this meeting and who I am." Watching as they all responded with nods and mumbled yes's, "Bottom line is we think LHA has got something. Something different. That we can market to a mass audience and where we enter into a contract so we can all make money." Watching as the ten shifted in their chairs to tune in to what she had to say, "I'm the director of new talent development. I've been in this field for over three decades. The acts I've worked with are a who's who of Billboards top twenty charts. A few are already in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I'm confident a few more will follow." She allowed that to sink in "My task isn't to re-brand you, or to provide fashion advice," peering over at Cam, "but to develop your brand, hone it. Market LHA. Facilitate getting you and your music out to a vast public. I must caution you, it means giving up some independence in the promotion. If we set up a radio interview, you'd better be there and on time. Not blow it off. Some have and are now nameless musicians teaching high school choirs. It also means we get the final say on which songs we drop for airplay and to inform you if you don't have one. We're not here to smother your creativity. Your independence. Your gift. Or your aspirations in the music industry. We're here to help you get there." determining if her supportive words had stuck," it won't feel like it. And I'm guessing all of you wish to be rich and famous rock stars with thousands of adoring fans or you wouldn't be here." From experience, Lin knew these weren't hardened musicians with decades of doing it their way. They were fresh faced college kids who needed the first break. She could see the eager scared shitless expressions on their faces, "Ok, then Deedee will go through the standard one-year contract which all new talent signs. There isn't any wiggle room, you're not Beyonce or Aerosmith yet."

Lin left while Deedee reviewed the 10-page contract. The paralegal answered questions as they cropped up. Afterward, she turned over to them a copy of the document to have their lawyer review. After a quick break for trips to the restroom and vending area, Lin came back to the conference room. Instead of taking her place at the end of the table, she instead moved a chair in between Roderick and Dani. Her tone shifted to a more affable voice, "You're all from Lima, Ohio?"

Elliott and Dani shook their heads as Blaine spoke, "No―"

Lin lifted her palm above the table to quiet Blaine. Elliott took this hint. "No, I'm from Paramus, New Jersey. And Dani is from" drawing a blank at where Dani grew up, "Uh ―"

"Pittsburgh."

Elliott smiled at the woman next to him, "All I could remember was Pennsylvania, sorry." He confided as Dani shrugged.

"I take it you're Santana?" Lin stared across the table at the Latina. "You have some professional experience, I see. Acting, modeling, commercial work, studio production, a tour, even a duet that did well. So why not a soloist? I ask because I reached out to DeShawn Howard. You impressed him with your skills as a vocalist. As was Sidney Green when I phoned him."

Santana sensed all eyes on her as she reflected on Lin's question. Like Mercedes and Rachel, singing was her childhood dream. She remembered the solo competitions in Glee. She recalled Cedes tour, how stressful it was on her friend to carry the entire company. How tedious and demanding it could be for her and Britt at times. Yet, this was different. These were other musicians. They invited her to join them. What had Cedes told her? She was 'a work in progress. Who was worth it' Santana cleared her throat, "Uhm― We split the solos. I'm in the lead, sometimes. At other times I sing backup. We're a team. We make each other better. Like Fleetwood Mac or Little Big Town"

"An admirable ambition and comparison to be Fleetwood Mac. I don't know if LHA will achieve those peaks, but we'll at least say we tried― Together."

* * *

Lin continued around the table, questioning each on their involvement and why they wanted to be in a pop band. She didn't interrogate anyone, but Santana could tell by her outward expressions certain answers didn't give her much confidence. Franco's comment about girl groupies and bras thrown on stage caused even her to cringe. Later, LHA returned to their makeshift studio to study their copy of the contract.

"Why go through the trouble of setting up an independent label if we're signing with Epic?" Cam glanced around his partners. "I mean, it defeats the purpose."

Jon tossed his copy of the contract on the coffee table, "Even a publishing company. They'll own the masters to any songs we record once we sign this." He added. "And they'll sell 'em to some third party. We won't see a dime."

Blaine shook his head, "No, you'll keep the copyright to the song. The label pays a percentage to the composer for the mechanical recording."

Franco scoffed, "50%, the label takes 50% too."

"I thought you guys were music majors. Isn't this covered in your classes?" Kitty asked. Santana's phone buzzed, preventing an answer.

"Hey, Cedes. Yeah, we spoke to them. Hang on, let me put you on speaker."

"Santana tells me y'all got a dose of recording contract truth this morning."

"I wouldn't say that―"

"Bullshit Blaine. I'll tell you this. Major labels are major because they write the contracts and make money."

"And we're their indentured servants. No offense." Franco grumbled.

"None taken. This time Floppy Hair. Listen, y'all can sit tight to your independence. It's worked for Coldplay. Imagine Dragons. Or you can sign that 18-month contract. With it, you'll get distribution channels. Streaming playlists. Which means airplay to a global market. Songs on worldwide radio stations, international charts, not just Billboard. Look, the best song ever recorded won't be a hit without volume. And volume means distribution channels. And in today's world, it says what the major labels have always had cash to promote you."

"Yeah, but they want our songs too," Jon yelled at the phone on the table.

"No, publishing copyrights are for 70 years, that's 70 years after the composer's death and it doesn't matter who records the song if it's heard in a movie. Or commercial. Even sampled. You get compensated for it. Unless you sign your rights away. The label will get part of the mechanical recording rights. That's a given no matter who are, which also means they own the masters. Hell, neither Michael nor the Beatles owned their masters. Is it fair? No. But until someone like Katy or Taylor or Drake makes a move to change it, it will not change."

"So, you're stuck with this too?" Cam leaned over the phone so as not to yell.

"I am. But that doesn't mean you can't keep your independent label for new artists you find. Hell to the No records is alive and well because I let someone I trust run it for me. He's brought in two Cali rap artists that have 360 contracts. Are those contracts fair? No, but it gives the artist time to develop. And once things roll for these two guys, they'll leave. In music contracts, it's all in what you think is fair."

"Did you find out about this Glinda Sibylla?" Santana asked.

Mercedes laugh reverberated from the phone's mic. "Yeah, about Lin. My industry contacts say she is A&R at Epic. She's the only one who has carte blanche to sign any new talent. Her education is more managerial and promotion. Uses her gut instinct to determine who she chooses and she's been damn good with her intuitions. In this business, Lin Sibylla has the respect. One of them told me she's got more Rolodex on her desk, then room to write."

Jon leaned over to Blaine, "What's a rollo deck?"

"Catalog of contacts," Blaine whispered. "It's old school." Blaine shouting into the phone, "Mercedes is there a 'yeah but' to Glinda? She sounds too perfect."

"No, not at all. One guy called her the female Clive Davis."

"How come we haven't heard of her?"

"Cos she's not a man. No, seriously, this is a male-dominated business, Lin has had to earn her stripes the hard way."

"That sounded wanky Cedes. I'm still not convinced," Santana added, searching around the room for any who agreed with her but hadn't admitted it yet.

Mercedes chuckled "Yeah, it did sound wanky, Santana" She took a breather to contain her amusement "Kinda what I thought, too. So, I called up one act she worked with. What she told me is that if Lin's involved, she'll have your back. Be your champion. An advocate. And she'll make you money. Lots of money, but you're gonna have to work for it. Lin's not afraid to drop acts that aren't pulling their weight. And if that happens, look for an indie label, cos majors won't care either. I suppose that's the downfall, you play it her way. Oh, one other thing, she likes to save money."

"Meaning?" Elliott asked.

Mercedes giggled, "Hope y'all like camping. She regards it as a bonding exercise on your first tour. She spent a few years as a Deadhead in a hippie bus. Flipside, she's a negotiator. That recoupment clause if you go on tour? Yeah, she'll make sure that's paid down, if not paid off, by the time your tour ends."

"So why did your contact leave, Lin?" Dani replied

"EMI offered her more money. No other reason." Mercedes chuckled again, "She said. Her favorite memory of touring is that first tour with Lin. Camping was the calm before fame hit her square in the face."

"Mercedes, straight up, are you suggesting the band should sign with Epic?" Kitty asked.

"Well, I can't tell you what to do, but if Epic's putting their numero uno A&R woman on LHA, they're not, forgive my French, fucking around. Anyway, I gotta go. I'm having lunch with Tank. Let me know what y'all decide."

* * *

Seven days later, they found themselves back in the conference room, with Lin and Deedee. One by one, they placed their autographs on the line above their name and social security number. Dani was the first Santana the last. The contract using their complete given names. Santana explained that Diabla wasn't she-devil. It was from a la Diabla an idiom for carelessly. No one dared ask about it in the room. Later, under the influence of alcohol, she admitted she's the 'fruit' of her parents' failure to use protection while dating. Elliott's immediate response, 'Thank God, they didn't.' That lead to a toast and more drinking, a regrettable choice when they woke up for early classes or work the next morning.

* * *

Reviews are always welcomed.

Notes:

Song Title: Esa Muchacha Band: Los Hermanos (2011) apologizes if the words are incorrect, found the song, then looked up the lyrics and copied them.

For those who skipped the dream: 1.) Santana needs to keep the band together. 2.) Her music will influence people. 3.) She'll end up as a role model too many. And the dream section was written long before we lost Naya (RIP).


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